The Power Within
by Lupins Lair
Summary: Voldemort discovers the existence of an artefact which could give him the ultimate power and control which he desires. Set in Harry's fifth year at Hogwarts, there is the arrival of a new face, plus the return of some old friends. DISCONTINUED. Sorry
1. Default Chapter

Author's Notes: First of all, a huge thanks for Jedi Boadicea, whose stories are just fantastic

Author's Notes: First of all, a huge thanks to Jedi Boadicea, whose stories are just fantastic. I was inspired to have a stab at writing something myself after reading her work. If you haven't read them, where have you been?! My friend and I swear she is the real J. K. Rowling. J Also thanks to Moey for beta-reading this, giving me her comments and suggestions.

Finally of course, thanks to J. K. Rowling for giving us this world to live in in the first place. It is all hers, I just feed off her dreams…..

The Power Within 

Prologue: At the beginning…..

Winter solstice, 1000 AD 

_ _

Night was falling fast. The last of the bonfires and merry, and at times drunken, celebrations had long since died down. The last of the stragglers stumbled down the crooked alley-ways back to their houses - if they could find them in their drunken state. The new invention of Fire-Shootapoppers had been an immense hit with the people of Narcarndia. Pranksters since birth, the Gruesome Twosome Brothers - as they had always been known - had devoted a lifetime perfecting practical joke gadgets and spells, resulting in all aroundentertainment. The Narcarndians all agreed that the exploding brilliance of every-coloured sparks into the dark night was the best thing since wooden wands.

"Ay, wonda-da-f-f-f-ul way to welcome in this winter solstice," mumbled Great Guzzly Gonzles as he lurched towards the walls, tipsy with extra-potent whiskey.

"Mind, ole pal," his friend Toddles said, steadying him. Not that it provided much, since his friend himself was in justas bad a way, tottering on Bambi-fowl-like legs. 

A third mate, Ribbit to his friends, danced towards them, swaying from one side of the alley to the other, singing - totally out of tune - and swinging a half full iron cask of butterbeer extra.

"May all acquaintance be forgot aa-nd…. aa-nd…. aa-nd….what comes after that mate?"

"May all acquaintance be forgot….." repeated Great Guzzly Gonzles, before giving way at the knees and ending up sitting in a puddle, gazing up at his two equally merry friends and guffawing.

"Never mind. Think ole friends," Ribbit thumped a hand on each of his friend's shoulders. Not a good idea considering as it only served to cause Toddles to collapse into an empty cart and Gonzles to sprawl into his puddle. Ribbit went on, oblivious to his toppling his comrades, "Another year. Days are getting longer. Life is good." 

Picking themselves up from the cart and puddle, the threesome staggered merrily home, arms over each others' shoulders. 

*

It was a dark night, clear with the exception of a few clouds shielding the light of the moon. Gonzles, Toddles and Ribbit had long since fallen into stupored sleep in their own beds. The scuttles of a rat rooting through the party leftovers in the bins, and the sweep of an owl's wings when swooping low to catch his prey, were the only noises from the town. Peaceful. Friendly. Trustworthy.

And safe.

That was why IT was kept here. Under the most stringent guarding. With gadgets and traps which would make the Gruesome Twosome's most prized booby traps fade into insignificance. Nobody, nobody in their right minds - or deranged even, for that matter - would attempt to fool the traps. Not unless they had a death wish. 

Until now.

A flicker of a movement. An almost inaudible rustle of the bushes. The moon was still hidden behind the clouds. A cloaked, hooded figure moved lightly towards the building. A grand display of sculpted architecture on the outside, Gringott's Bank had cool, glistening marble floors on the inside. Clean. Immaculately so. Shining surfaces, tapestry covered couches and gold framed paintings filled the halls. 

But the hooded figure cared not for extravagant fancifuls. As his eyes accustomed to the dark, he climbed up the outside of the building. Light as a cat, deft as a trapeze artist, using the crevices kindly provided by the architecture to help him along. Never at one spot for more than a second, he made it to a slit at the back of the building unnoticed, and disappeared through it.

*

The soft leather shoes made no sound as the figure fleetingly made his way to the vaults. 

This is where IT was kept. 

With a devilish grin underneath the hood, his fingers worked deftly to undo the lock. Always light, never forceful. To avoid triggering any sensitive alarms. 

Taking the carts which were used to travel the network of underground vaults, the intruder chuckled inwardly as things went as easily and uneventful as they did. 

Halting at vault 79846, he took a quick glance up and down the tunnel. Nothing. Nothing except for rows upon rows of vaults, and miles and miles of rails on which the carts ran (which could barely be made out due to the utter pitch-blackness of the underground network). 

This was all too easy, he thought. He would do this everyday. What a joke about the place being a thief's nightmare! 

With trembling hands, he dialed the secret code into the lock, and ran a gloved hand deftly over the door. 

The door slowly swung open, and the intruder gasped. ****

The vault revealed a stone. A stone which possessed such an energy and aura that took even the cool-minded intruder by surprise. No more than the size of a Golden Snitch, it gave off a luminous glow that filled the entire chamber-sizedvault. Red, amber, violet, green, blue, turquoise…. It was impossible to pinpoint what colours radiated from its core. 

In a shuddery, awed tone laced with reverence, the hooded figure whispered, "The Aryanus Totalitus."

Gaining hold of his usual cool-mind, he reached for the stone. Cupping it in his gloved hands and bringing it out from the vault, he felt the warmth it possessed, of the burning desire, the power. The glow easily illuminated the previously pitch-dark tunnel, as if it were bursting with energy, ready to explode at any moment. Shielding his eyes from the brilliance after having to adjust to the dark surroundings for so long, a cunning wicked grin spread across the face concealed under the hood.

"Master veel be pleezzed."

Hopping back into the cart, he made his journey back. Through the stretches of rails and rows and rows of vaults. Back to the entrance of the vaults.

Or was he really?

He'd lost sense of time slightly from marvelling at the powers the stone beheld. But surely the journey didn't take this long before?

Fear surged as the cart flew through the network underground. Panic-stricken, he pulled at the brakes. The handle only served to come off. The tunnel cavern was getting murkier now, the rails older, and the last of the vaults flashed by. 

Frantically looking all round, he considered leaping out. Not the best of ideas when going at 120m.p.h. in unfamiliar surroundings where rumours had it was riddled with quick-sand and hidden pits, but….

Too late. Turning back to the front, he saw the rail end abruptly, leading right over an abyss, blacker than black had it not been for the glowing stone he was still clutching onto. The cart flipped upon hitting the end of the track. Cart, intruder, and stone were hurtled into the air and fell into the Gringott's Absolut Abyss.

A deafening crash sounded as the three, finally, hit the bottom. An explosion erupted, and the stone shattered. A pool of luminous glow filled the bottom while sparks of every-coloured light emitted from the pits of the abyss all the way to the top where the rail had finished. Ricocheting off the uneven walls of the cavern, they gave a fine display much like the Fire Shootapoppers as they zig-zagged back down the abyss. 

Hitting the bottom, the sparks disintegrated into the ground. The glow seeped into the ground, as if it had been sucked in by the earth. The abyss, the Gringott's underground, and the town of Narcardia sank once again in total darkness. And total silence…….

More Author's Notes:

Fire-Shootapoppers - firecrackers to all you Muggle people 

Aryanus Totalitus - The term "Aryanus Totalitus" is a name I invented. The word "aryanus" is derived from the word "aryan" which Hitler has used for the what he thought as the supreme race. I picked the word as one of my theories regarding Voldemort and his wanting of power causes him to focus only in the pure bloods. His disdain and destruction of Mudbloods mirrors the genocide of the Jews in World War II. The word "Totalitus" just means total. And total of everything. Total of control, and of power. Not just regarding the genocide side of things, but regarding everything.

And the Gruesome Twosome Brothers are probably ancestors of Fred and George Weasley.


	2. Chapter One

The Power Within

Author's Notes: Thanks to Moey for beta-reading this, giving me her comments and suggestions.

Usual Disclaimer: Thanks to J. K. Rowling for giving us this world to live in in the first place. It is all hers, I just feed off her dreams…..

** **

**The Power Within**

Chapter 1

Utter pandemonium broke out from a cosy-looking, rather precariously constructed, house, which consisted of extensions reaching outwards and upwards in all directions, and a yard shared by several chickens and a lot of miscellaneous clutter. Shouts and laughter sounded from within, punctuated with the occasional explosion followed by an angry roar. Loud thuds and bangs shook the walls so violently that the house appeared threateningly close to toppling over entirely.

"Has anyone seen my red socks?"

"Have you tried looking in the laundry basket?"

"They are not there."

"Harry, is this your Sneakoscope?"

_CRASH!_

"Owww!"__

"_What was THAT?!"_

"Me. And a broomstick."

"George, how many times have I told you not to leave things lying at the top of the stairs?"

"Sorry! Ginny, are you okay?"

"Yeah. BILL! Your fang earring is down here!"

"Where ARE my socks?"

"My earring? Yes! I've been looking for it all over!" 

"It fell into the letter basket."

"Has anyone seen Crookshanks' cat snacks?"

"Found red socks!"

"Where?"

"Pig is eating them!" 

"The socks?" 

"No! The cat food!"

"Argh! Take it away! It'll make him sick!"

"What about the socks?" 

"Under Fred's bed! Oops, sorry! There's only one!"

"Who was it that had the Sneakoscope?"

"Will you all _please be__ quiet-ER?? I am trying to finish the last of my cauldron reports!" _

SLAM!

"Who cares about cauldron bottoms,** _Weatherby."_**

"Hermione! Your cat food!" 

"And here are some more cat snacks that were with Hedwig's owl pellets."

_FIZZ!!! WHAM!!! BANG!!!_

"Fred! George! How many _times?? __Accio Fizzler Cracklers!"_

"_Mu-um!"_

"_No, Fred. I'm not listening. Charlie! Owl for you! Looks like your papers for Romania."_

"Thanks mum!"

"I _found the other sock!"_

** **

An hour later, the mayhem calmed down somewhat. Ron had packed his red socks, Harry his Sneakoscope. Crookshanks was munching on Pig's leftovers as the twins sulkily gave up the last of their Fizzler Cracklers. Percy had Disapparated to the office with parchment in hand, scowling irritably. 

Everyone had gathered round the kitchen table ready for breakfast when Arthur Weasley Apparated in the kitchen with a faint "pop!" Evidently, he had spent an early morning at the office. Accepting the plate of eggs, bacon,** and sausages from his wife gratefully, he grinned round at the crowd and asked, "So, you are all ready I hope?"**

"Just about," said Mrs Weasley grimly, thinking back to the bedlam of just an hour ago. It was amazing how things still go haywire despite having most of the packing and sorting done the night before.

Harry sighed contentedly as he looked around the Weasley kitchen. He loved The Burrow. He loved the way it always threatened to topple over at any moment. He loved the unruly way its extensions spread. He loved the mixture of magic and non-magic within the household. He loved how it was so cosy and welcoming, and so "lived-in". Above all, he loved the atmosphere, the sense of a family - the warmth, the laughter, the fun, the love. He even liked Mrs. Weasley's scoldings and Percy's disdainful reprimands. It gave him a wonderful sense of _belonging. And he was eternally grateful to be able to share in that. It was a wonderful change to his empty, humdrum Muggle life at Privet Drive where he would be shoved up in his bedroom** and basically ignored.**_

It had been a couple of weeks since he had gotten Ron's owl telling him Dumbledore had allowed the Weasley family to invite Harry to their home. Hermione had been invited as well, and the past week and a half at The Burrow had easily been the best time he'd had in ages, since before the end of last term. His face clouded over as his thoughts drifted to that night of June 24th. The third task of the Triwizard Tournament. The Maze. The Goblet. The Portkey. The graveyard. _Cedric._

Harry had been haunted by images of Cedric, and of the rebirth of Voldemort, ever since that day. Those thoughts and visions had** been plaguing him night after night since the battle in the graveyard. Since witnessing the rebirth of the Dark Lord. Since Cedric's death. It had been dreadful staying in Privet Drive, not being able to _do anything when he knew Voldemort's power was increasing day by day. It had been frustrating to know that Dumbledore was gathering his most faithful supporters and trying to devise a strategy and he was stuck with a Muggle family which not only didn't know about the wizarding world, but didn't __want to know. And it had been difficult trying to act normal in front of the Dursleys, as if he didn't harbour any fear or trepidation, as if there wasn't a powerful dark wizard going thirstily after his life. It wasn't as if he would be voicing out loud much about his worries and fears even in front of Ron and Hermione, but at least they knew, and would understand, and he sought comfort with them just being __there. _******

_"But at least," he thought grimly, __"the scar hadn't hurt for the entire summer."****_

An indignant cry interrupted his thoughts and he laughed as he saw Bill being pummelled by Ron from across the table.

"Give me back my bacon!" 

"Finder's keepers," replied Bill as speared up the rasher.

Snatching the fork away from his big brother, Ron muttered, "You didn't find it. You magicked it over to you when I wasn't looking!"****

Bill just grinned as he casually reached over to the side-board to pick up a spare fork and continue his breakfast. Looking at him, one would never have imagined Bill having been a Head Boy at Hogwarts. He was the image of anything but. The fang earring was just one of many unorthodox things which included a long mane, punk clothing and dragon-hide boots. Harry had a suspicious feeling that Bill more than likely joined in the fun rather than deducting house points when he caught pranksters in the act.

This was another reason why Harry loved life at The Burrow. It was much too lively and cheerful to leave much room for pondering over his darker thoughts. What with the jokes, teasing, gossip,** and Quidditch, there wasn't enough time to be brooding. **

Quidditch. His favourite hobby. Harry had missed it terribly during his stay with the Dursleys. If Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia balked at the mention of even the word "owl", they surely would have gone ballistic had Harry even so far as ventured near his Firebolt. Still, he had more than made up for it during his time at The Burrow. There were some days when they spent more hours up in the air than on the ground. Ron had been extremely keen as he desperately wished to be selected for the position of Keeper on the Gryffindor house team, now that Oliver Wood had left. The twins and Harry of course, needed no persuasion to join him, nor did Ginny. Even Hermione had taken part in some of the matches. And with the likes of Bill and Charlie added to the mix, the games had been more than exciting. Charlie had also given a plethora of Seeker tips for Harry, while Bill drilled Ron's saving skills by mercilessly hurling Quaffles at the hoops which Ron was guarding.

After breakfast, Mr. Weasley hustled the lot of them out to the car awaiting them outside, which he had borrowed from the Ministry of Magic for the morning. Bill and Charlie magicked the six trunks, six broomsticks, two owls in their cages and one cat into the boot of the car while Mrs. Weasley, the twins, Ginny, Harry, Hermione and Ron squeezed into the front and back seats. Harry was again amazed at how spacious it was once inside.

"It must be enchanted to make it seem bigger," whispered Hermione to him.

** **

They had all travelled inside a Ministry car before, and after racing along the country roads, artfully dodging obstacles along the way, narrowly escaping a couple of maniac drivers, squeezing into several narrow alley-ways,** and leaping over a two mile queue of London rush hour traffic, the lot arrived at King's Cross in a ridiculously short amount of time.**

"Okay kids," said Mrs Weasley. "You know what to do."

The gang nodded.

"You go first," she nodded at the twins. "Then Harry and Ron. And I will follow with Hermione and Ginny."

"And _don't…"_

The twins disappeared into the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10 at break-neck speed.

"….. charge," she finished with a sigh.

When Harry and Ron appeared on Platform 9 ¾, the twins were still sprawled out in a heap with their trunks and broomsticks higgledy-piggledy beside them. Harry and Ron had barely helped them to their feet when the girls showed up with Mrs Weasley. 

"What am I ever going to do with the two of you?" she said to the identical redheads, shaking her head. But Harry could see a faint smile on her lips.

"Nothing."

"We are here to inject your life with fun and excitement."****

"And you know you like it and you wouldn't want it any other way."

Their mum shook her head. Impossible, those two, just impossible. But they were right……

Lee Jordan appeared at that moment and the twins went off with him, waving a cheery goodbye.

Mrs Weasley turned back to the rest.

"You'll take care now, won't you? Don't get into trouble and _please be careful! No rule-breaking, no running around the Forbidden Forest after dark, no…."_

"_Mu-um! You've been through all this before!"_

Molly sighed. "I know, I know. It's just…. I worry for you. All of you." She paused, "It's part and parcel of being a mum. It is mandatory to give these speeches."

They laughed. 

"Don't worry Mrs. Weasley. Ginny will take care of herself just fine. And," Hermione said, winking at Harry and Ron, "I'll make sure Ron and Harry are taken care of."

Ron made a face. Mrs Weasley laughed.

"Thanks, Hermione. I am sure you will be making the boys toe the line," she said, returning Hermione's wink.

"Hey, as if!" cried Ron indignantly. "Who was it that saved you from that troll in first year?"

"Well, you locked it in with me in the girls' loo in the first place!"

"Pah!"

Harry smiled at Ron's being stumped, once again, by Hermione. He was about to hurry the others along so as to get good seats on the train when a familiar voice caught his ears. 

"Well, Crabbe. I have to admit that I am surprised, once more, by that ever-open minded, soft-hearted dishrag of a headmaster. Albus Dumbledore has often proved himself to be a charitable simpleton." 

Harry bristled with anger. Dumbledore was _not a simpleton. He is the greatest wizard that ever lived! Harry recognised the voice well. He had heard it a few times before, and also one very similar in that of his son's. It was the unmistakably cold, hard, smooth voice of Lucius Malfoy._

"It is bad enough he invites creatures of all sorts into the school, werewolves and Mudbloods among others. But to take on a foreign student midway through the academic training, from some barbaric Eastern European country? Really! Where is his sense of pride?"

_"Foreign student?" wondered Harry.__ "Who?"_

However, he was interrupted at that point by Ron whisking him off onto the Hogwarts Express. Joined by Hermione, they searched the train for an empty carriage in which to spend their journey. As the rest of their friends dropped by and everyone exchanged details of their summers, Harry forgot the conversation he'd overheard, eagerly joining in the talk. Lavender had spent a month by the sea with Parvati and Padma Patil, Seamus Finnegan went to Canada with his folks, and Neville surprised everyone by returning quite tanned from a summer in France with his grandmother.

"Wow Ne-_ville! _Never knew you could tan so well!" teased Seamus, as Neville blushed furiously under his hazel cheeks. 

"So," challenged Hermione slyly. "As-tu passé de bon temps a la belle France cet ete?"

Ron stared at Hermione and then at Harry, mouthing, "What the….? _French?!"_

"She _has been to France, you know," replied Harry matter-of-factly. "Besides, she is Hermione." As if that explained everything. _

Ron just shook his head, but Neville, for his part, grinned at Hermione and answered airily, "Mais oui. J'ai passé des vacances fantastiques a la Cote D'Azur. Il y avait plein de soliel. Le mer si bleu, les villes pitoresques, personnes amicables. Vraiment super."

Ron's jaw fell open. Seamus and Harry stared. Hermione looked positively stumped. She hadn't really thought of what to expect, but even so, whatever it would have been, it clearly was not this.

Neville looked round the carriage and burst out laughing. "Surprised you lot, eh?"

"Y-y-_yeah!" exclaimed Harry, recovering first. "Where did you learn that?!"_

"Like it? It is easy enough to pick up if you hear it day in, day out for two and a half months. Shame there isn't a French class for the O.W.L.s. It would be so much better than Potions," he finished off ruefully.

"Potions doesn't count. Snape would be happy to fail anyone who isn't a Slytherin if Dumbledore allowed it."

Dean Thomas bounded into the carriage at that moment and chatted happily about his Muggle summer, which Harry thought enviously, was much more exciting than his. His family had been to the Universal Studios and subsequently succumbed to the Indiana Jones obsession. He went on to give a blow-by-blow account of the films, miming out all the action, much to the amusement of those passing by.

"My, my, my," came a lazy drawl. "Aren't we all just a happy family?"

The lot in the carriage swivelled round to see a pale, thin boy with white-blonde hair, flanked by two burly, goofy looking guys twice his size.

"And isn't it The Three Stooges," muttered Hermione under her breath.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" glared Ron.

"Oh, _Weasley. I have to say I am surprised to find you here." Malfoy said smoothly. "I would have thought your family could only afford to travel in the coal compartment."_

Ron took a flying leap at the door. "You asked for it, Malfoy!" he roared at the sniggering blonde.

"Ron!" Neville caught the raging Ron just in time to prevent him from tripping over Hedwig's and Pig's cages which had been placed on the floor to make room on the seats for himself, Dean and Seamus.

Draco gave a low whistle. "Is this Longbottom? What did you do Neville? Grandma lock you up in her oven?"

Beside him, the bulky figures of Crabbe and Goyle snickered. Neville flushed.

"You're just jealous because you remain a pasty, sickly white even if you _were in an oven," retorted Seamus. _

"Oh really," mocked Draco. "I would love nothing better than to look like a wrinkled monkey."

"Beats a bouncing ferret any day," returned Harry.

The Gryffindors roared. Two red spots burned on Malfoy's pale cheeks. He gave Harry a cool look.

"You will pay for this Potter," he said angrily, before he turned on his heel and strode stiffly down the corridor, with Crabbe and Goyle lumbering clumsily after him.

"Serves him right," spat Ron, shaking off Neville's grip. "How do you say this bloody hateful bastard in French?" ****

"_Ron!" _

"Ce foutu salaud odieux," winked Neville, as he got up to leave, in order to make his way back to his own carriage.

*

The journey continued without further incident. Harry treated the others to Cauldron Cakes, Pumpkin Pasties, Chocolate Frogs and Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans as the trolley came round at lunch-time.

As Hogwarts drew near, the three fell silent. It was a tiring journey, and they couldn't wait to get on firm ground again, have their usual opening feast in the Great Hall, and fall into the four-poster beds in their dormitories. 

Alighting from the carriages which took them from Hogsmeade Station to Hogwarts, the students made their way into the Great Hall for the welcome feast, after the Sorting for the first years. Seeing the eleven-year olds pale-faced and nervous reminded Harry how nerve-wracking it had been for him four years ago. The Sorting Hat fell right over the eyes of many of the first years, and covered the heads of some of them completely.

"I'm telling you," said Ron in a low voice as "MacMillan, Annie" got sorted into Hufflepuff. "They getting smaller and smaller each year."

"And you seem to grow taller and taller each year," teased Hermione. 

It wasn't a complete joke. Ron had shot up tremendously, and was close to a head taller than her. She had noticed on the train how he seemed to have trouble finding where to put his legs when sitting down. 

When all the newcomers had been sorted, Dumbledore gave a short welcome speech and the feast began. The table of Gryffindors had just started to dig into five different types of roast and eight types of assorted vegetables, when Professor McGonagall came over to the table with a brunette they hadn't seen before, and who wasn't at the Sorting. The Gryffindors couldn't help studying her intently, and she flushed slightly under their gaze. Quite petite in build, she had deep-set brown eyes in a small heart-shaped face, and had rather pale skin despite the awkward flush on** her cheeks. **

"Gryffindors, this is Ekaterina Karvitskaya. She is from Russia and was at the Rastorovsky Institute of Wizardry. But because her father got transferred to work in Birmingham, it was thought better she changed to an English school, so Dumbledore has accepted her into Hogwarts. She's already been sorted earlier on and is in Gryffindor. And she will be going into Fifth Year. I hope you will all make her feel welcome."

She gave Ekaterina a warm smile, and waved to an empty seat between Neville and Katie Bell, before heading up towards the teacher's table at the front of the hall. 

_"Fifth Year?" mouthed Fred incredulously, facing Lee._

Ekaterina tentatively made her way to the empty seat McGonagall indicated. It was easy to understand his amazement. The girl looked no bigger than most of the First Years who just arrived. And maybe at most would pass for a Second Year.

"It is okay if I sit here?" she asked softly.

"Yes, of course," said Katie warmly.

Ekaterina slipped into the seat gratefully. Feeling rather rude staring, the rest of the table helped themselves to the food. 

"Help yourself," said Angelina Johnson, spearing up several roast potatoes with her knife. "You don't have to put on your best manners for _this lot." She waved her spare hand towards the guys at the table, laughing. _

Ekaterina smiled and helped herself to some chicken. 

"So, Ekaterina, where in Russia do you come from?" asked Dean.

"Katya would do actually," she said hurriedly. "It's the diminuitive for Ekaterina. And much less cumbersome! I'm from Novgorod."

"So what do you learn there? Is it different than here do you think? I mean, do you have anything you emphasise more? Or what?"

Katya frowned as she pondered the question. "Not really, I mean, in response to the emphasising anything in particular bit. I'd say we learn similar things to you here. That was one of the reasons why my teachers in Russia encouraged me to apply to Hogwarts, because it was similar enough. Plus it is a good school," she smiled. "Differences. Ummmm…. I wouldn't know till I start here obviously. Well, an obvious difference would be that lessons were done in Russian back at home!"

The others laughed, and Katya appeared more relaxed. 

"Do you find English hard? I mean, you speak it perfect, but like, would you have to really concentrate in order to understand everything, or do you find it easy enough?"

"Oh, it is easy enough. Thankfully. I am just really lucky that my grandfather was an English teacher in Russia. He was a Muggle. And my father uses English in his line of work a lot too."

"Is your father a Muggle too? Or a wizard?" asked Colin Creevey.

"A Muggle. He works in business and information technology. Er, you know, computers, databases, electronic communications sort of stuff," she added when she saw some confused looks around the table. "You don't have to know all of this! My mother's side of the family were wizards though."

"Ah!"

After the initial family talk, the conversation moved on to regular gossip and discussion of the summer holidays again, and finally ending with talk about the Quidditch trials which were to take place in the second week of the term. Ron was nearly falling off his seat in nervous anticipation just thinking about the try-outs for Keeper.

"Do you play Quidditch?" he asked, turning to Katya.

"Just for fun, not seriously. I love watching it though. My favourite team is The Driyoutzy Dragons," she said, and laughed at the sight of Ron's horrified face that anyone would support a team other than the Chudley Cannons.

When the last crumbs of lemon meringue were cleared, the students made their way to their respective houses. When they reached the Gryffindor common room, Angelina, who was the Gryffindor prefect, gave the Fat Lady the password,

"Jumpitty Jackaletties."

Harry could see Katya raising her eyebrows and smothering a giggle when she heard the password. 

_Yes, she might be quite amusing to have around after all._

*

Lessons and work came thick and fast almost immediately. It seemed to the Fifth Years, every professor had swallowed the same record. _"You are going to be sitting your O.W.L.s in June, and there is no time to be messing around.You have precious little time and it is not to be wasted. You will be expected to work, work, work, to achieve the best you can on your exams."_

"As if we don't already _know," grumbled Seamus, after a particularly gruelling Transfiguration lesson during the second week from McGonagall, where she had repeated that phrase about five times._

"And as if we don't hear enough about it from Hermione," said Ron in a quiet voice to Harry.

"Well, she's only been talking about these exams and urged us to study for them since September last year," chuckled Harry. "I'd say she would be able to take the O.W.L.'sand pass them all with distinction if they took place today."

The Fifth Year Gryffindors made their way to their Defence Against the Dark Arts class. 

"Have you heard about who we are going to have yet?" 

"No."

"I didn't see any extra teachers during the meal times, did you?"

"No, but then as far as I am aware, no one has had a Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson yet. Terry Boot was saying he heard the teacher wouldn't be available till this week to come."

"Well, he, or she, still hadn't shown up at breakfast time today."

"Maybe he, or she, arrived afterwards."

Fred, George and Lee passed the Fifth Years at that moment, on their way to Divination when Lee turned to the lot hanging outside the classroom.

"We have a record, guys. We are actually having the same Dark Arts teacher for two years in a row!"

"Moody? Old Mad-Eye?"

"Yup!"

The Fifth Years cheered and high-fived each other. Hermione turned to Harry and whispered into his ear, "I just hope it is the _real Mad-Eye Moody this time!"_

"Mad Eye?" asked Katya, confused.

"Yeah, because of his eye," said Dean, still cheering and grinning hard.

"Er, his eye?"

"Yeah. He's got this eye that is huge, round and really, really blue."

"And it never stops moving, never blinks, and rolls round everywhere," finished Ron.

"Ri-igght," acknowledged Katya nervously. 

"He's alright," assured George. "Very good actually, when you get over his alarming appearance seeing him for the first time. The only thing is that you just can't mess about in his class or sneak doing anything but his work, because he sees everything."

"But then his classes are so cool and .… interactive, that you don't really get the urge to mess about anyway," added Fred grinning, before hurrying off with George and Lee to the North Tower.

A rhythmical clunking sound down the corridor told the Fifth Years of Moody's arrival. His wooden leg making a noise with each step. When he came up to them, his magical eye spun round wildly as he surveyed the class. Then he pushed open the classroom door and barked, "In!"

The class hurriedly scrambled in. Glancing at Katya, Harry almost burst out laughing at the utterly shocked and stunned expression that was on her face. She swallowed hard, eyeing Moody warily, before following the others into the room.

When the class was seated, Moody closed the door and limped over to the desk at the front of the class, violently slamming down a glass jar and the parchment containing the class registrar. The ink bottle leapt into the air before crashing back down, sending several squirts of black ink flying across the desk.****

"I can see you are all present," he growled, not even taking so much as** a glance at the registrar. "Perhaps you recall that I was supposed to stay for only one year last year in this post. But times change, and Dark Arts teachers do not grow on trees. So I have volunteered to stay on another year, to ease Professor Dumbledore's workload.."**

He stopped, and rolled his eye round again. It was a rather fascinating, though slightly nauseating, quirk, Katya had to say. 

"And especially at times like this," Moody continued gruffly. "It is well you learn about defence first hand. Hands-on approach! _No good learning from text-books. You aren't going to be carrying them around with you fighting the Dark Lord. You don't pick up __The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self Protection and flip to page 174 paragraph 5 ½ when you are faced with the Imperius Curse. You have to be on guard all the time. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"_

The whole class jumped as he barked out the last two words, his hands thumping hard on the desk and toppling over the ink pot this time.

"I taught you the three Unforgivable Curses last year." His magical eyes swivelled dizzyingly round in its socket though his head remained quite still. 

"Mr. Longbottom, I believe your toad is attempting to escape out the window."

Neville's eyes dropped down to his satchel and then up to the window to his left where a toad was about to pop off the ledge.

"Oh no," he moaned. "Trevor!"

Before he could get up, there was a swish of pale blue mist as Moody swept Trevor onto Neville's desk where it spun round for a couple of turns before halting in the centre of the desk. 

"I would suggest you fasten your bag a little tighter in the future, Longbottom."

"Yes, sir," replied Neville, blushing furiously.

"Now, where was I? Yes, the Unforgivable Curses. You learnt about those last year, and I am sure some of you found it useful."

His eye flickered at Harry for the briefest of moments, then rolled to the back of his head before turning the right way round again and once more surveying the class.

"You can fight the Imperius Curse, of course, endure the Cruciatus Curse. But it takes character, it takes guts. So best avoid it. CONSTANT VIGILANCE! And as for the Avada Kedavra curse, you had better be in your guard. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

Shooting a quick look at her, Harry could see Katya starring transfixed at Moody, holding her breath. Her hands were clasped tightly together, and one could see her knuckles were turning white. She wasn't what Harry would have called utterly terrified, just….. _startled. He could relate to that. Even after one year's worth of lessons from Moody (albeit an imposter), he couldn't help being startled during the professor's more intense moments._

"So we move on."

He picked up the glass jar he had carried into the class upon entrance and asked,

"What do you see in here? Patil?"

"Er," Parvati twisted a piece of string nervously round her fingers. "N-n-nothing?"

"Wrong!" roared Moody. Parvati jumped. Ron swallowed hard. Hermione blinked.

"Just because you don't _see anything, doesn't mean there __isn't anything. The Disparuatis spell. Covers any object or person with an invisible sheath, so no one can see it."_

He pointed his wand at the jar and muttered, "_Revealo!"_

_ _

The air in the jar shimmered, and faintly at first, then more clearly, the shape of a large, fat, hairy centipede appeared. It grew more and more defined until the centipede was most certainly there and the shimmer disappeared. 

Ron turned slightly green. "Why can't he pick some nicer creatures than that? First spiders and tarantulas, now gigantic hairy centipedes." 

"Eew!" cried Lavender.

Moody stared out into the class, "Now _that, is an invisible spell. You wouldn't like to walk face into this centipede, no?"_

Lavender gagged. Parvati looked like she was going to faint. Neville paled. Katya made a disgusted face.

"I thought so," said Moody wryly. Waving his wand over the jar again, he said, "_Disparuto!"_

_ _

A shimmery haze filled the jar once more as the centipede's outline because hazier and hazier until it speckled out of sight.

"And there are more dangerous and ominous objects under the Disparuatis spell than hairy centipedes. Dark wizards, traitors, protection shields, dark arts weapons, traps, serpents, dragons. Anything! What you don't see isn't always what it is. Beware of seemingly deserted areas. Be on guard. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

The class jumped again.

By the time the bell rang, the Fifth Years had the words "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" ringing in their ears. Which no doubt, was precisely Mad-Eye Moody's intention. As the class made their way to the Great Hall for lunch, Ron paused by Katya's desk where she was collecting up her books and quills.

"So, how did you find Mad-Eye?" he asked, as they headed out towards the door.

Katya pondered for a few seconds.

"He is very……_vigorous, isn't he?" she finally said, struggling to find a word._

Ron laughed. "Yeah, very intense. But he is alright really, as George said."

"I like ole Moody, mad or not," said Dean, coming up and joining them.

"Yeah, he's pretty cool. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" mimicked** Dean, as the rest of them burst into giggles.**

"I really liked Lupin though," said Ron quietly.

A rude snort came from behind them. The Slytherins had just joined up with them outside the Great Hall, arriving from their Charms class. Ron turned round to face Malfoy, who had his usual sneer on his thin face.

"You _would like the werewolf of course," drawled Malfoy smugly, seeing Ron's temper rise. "You must relate to him. I never thought I would see clothes and equipment as old and seventh hand as your family's, Weasley. But Lupin came close. And of course your Mudblood friend would support him too. She seems to be so __passionate about protecting and saving creatures too pathetic to stand up for themselves."_

Ron felt his face flush crimson with anger, and he was _this close to punching Malfoy's smug little face right there in the corridor. He didn't give a damn if McGonagall, or Snape, or even Dumbledore came along at that very moment and expelled him there and then on the spot. _

Malfoy snickered, "I can tell Pauper Weasley is annoyed. His fists are clenching, and he looks as if he needs chaining to the wall."

"You smug, rude, snobby little……"

Ron paused in his angry cascade of insults. He threw Draco a contemptuous look. And then, fighting to keep the anger and disgust out of his voice, said loftily, "And I guess Mr. Malfoy would want a Death Eater as a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Preferably his father perhaps? I am sure he would then finally be able to shine, and to succeed in _something." _

Malfoy was caught off-guard by the unexpected response, and before he could recover, Ron had already joined Harry and Hermione halfway down the corridor. Draco scowled, his eyes almost disappearing into the deep folds of his forehead. He noticed Crabbe and Goyle beside him, waiting for him to move on, and looking slightly puzzled at him staring after Ron. 

"_Fortunately," thought Draco, **"**__they are far to thick to have picked up on anything." _

He didn't want rumours to go round that Ron, _Ron, a __Weasley, had upped him one. It irked him. It irked him even more, he realised, as he marched furiously in the direction of the Slytherin common room, with Crabbe and Goyle clumsily lumbering behind him, that Ron's lofty comment had cut deep. _

It wasn't true. But that was precisely _why it struck deep, because it __wasn't true. He __wouldn't want his father to be his teacher. Just the thought of that made him shudder, and a cold heavy weight formed at the pit of his stomach. He could just hear his father's cold, hard voice now, ringing in his head._

_"I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or a plunderer. Though if his school marks don't pick up, that may indeed be all he is fit for."_

_ _

_"I would have thought you'd be ashamed that a girl of no wizard family beat you in every exam."_

_ _

_"I supplied your House team with a full set of the finest broomsticks. I expected better results than to have you wiped out by a couple of lowly Weasley commoners and the Potter simpleton."_

_ _

And the worst, last summer, when his father had returned home in a foul mood late one night. Only to be greeted with Draco's report card, which, as usual, had not satisfied his father. Lucius Malfoy had pounded up the stairs and literally dragged the boy out of his bed.

_"If you do not wish to shame the family name any further boy, I would suggest you attempt to understand the meaning of work."_

_ _

Malfoy shuddered. No, he certainly did not want his father to be the Dark Arts teacher. It was bad enough to endure his cold, heartless remarks of discontentment when he read Draco's school reports once a year. It would be a thousand times worse for him to _see his father in person at the school, to endure those sharp criticisms on a daily basis. _

_"Shine indeed," thought Malfoy bitterly. He could have snorted with derision had he not felt a strange prickling sensation behind his eyes instead. Fiercely, he held his head up high. No one, __no one, was going to see him show vulnerability. That was just so __not on._

And yet……. and yet……

And yet, he wished he could just break down. He wished he could just let loose everything and have someone to talk things over with. 

And above all, he wished his father would just simply understand. And listen. And sympathise.

**Translations:**

_As-tu passé de bon temps a la belle France cet ete ?_

Did you have a nice time in beautiful France this summer?

_Mais oui. J'ai passé des vacances fantastiques a la Cote D'Azur. Il y avait plein de soliel. Le mer si bleu, les villes pitoresques, personnes amicables. __Vraiment super._

But yes. I had a fantastic holiday at the Azur Coast. There was plenty of sun. The sea was blue, the towns picturesque, the people friendly. Really super.


	3. Chapter Two

Author's Notes:

Author's Notes: Thanks to Moey for beta-reading and of course, thanks to J. K. Rowling for giving us this world to live in in the first place. It is all hers, I just feed off her dreams…..

The Power Within

Chapter 2 

Narcarndia, 1000 AD

_ _

The abyss, the Gringott's underground, and the town of Narcardia sank once again in total darkness. And total silence.

Except….

Among the splintered wood from the cart and scattered remains of the intruder, very faintly, so very faintly, glowed the only fragments that were left of the shattered stone. Four small shards. Shining so feebly in comparison to when the stone was a whole, that one had to wonder if there really was any of the intense, palpable power left in them at all. 

Just as the glow was flickering and dying, the walls of the abyss started to crumble and cave in, smothering any signs of the explosion at the bottom. The abyss, the Gringott's underground, and the town of Narcardia was once again in total darkness.

And remained dark till morning light broke over the horizon.__

When morning broke, frenzy and uproar broke out along with it. The news of the stolen stone spread like wildfire. Tongues waggled, resulting in a kaleidoscope of rumours.

"Did you _hear_ what happened?"

"Gringott's? The stone?"

"What else?"

"I heard the intruder got sucked into the vault."

"No, he didn't. He was thrown into a pit and burned alive!"

"That's not what I heard. I was told he jumped out of the runaway cart and was swallowed by the quicksand along the edge of the rails."

"What runaway cart?"

"Mummy! Mummy! Mummy! Roberta told me that the thief got caught by a poltergeist that lives down underground, and he was transformed into a beetle! Forever!"

"Oh, dad! Can I practice my Reducto Curse on a beetle the next time I see one in the vaults then? Pleeaase?"

"No. Besides, you don't even know the curse son."

"I do too! Phyllis taught me!"

"But the stone is gone?"

"For sure."

"It isn't there anymore. Nor anywhere in the vaults. Something that emits such a radiance isn't hard to miss."

"Vanished!"

"I think it was destroyed along with the thief."

That was the only thing that the villagers could agree on. That the stone was gone and likely to have been destroyed. Something like that can't skip the eye, and the people at the Ministry of Magic, along with the Gringott's goblins, were already combing the entire area with a fine toothcomb.

"I feel really bad for Militsia and Sebastian," said Madame Bouillon, who ran Narcarndia's most renowned gourmet restaurant. "After all that hard work and research. Gone, just like that. Powf!" 

She emphasised the loss with a flicker of her hand, shaking her head sorrowfully. The others glanced towards the direction of where the Head of the Ministry of Magic, Christopher Levelmind, was standing, talking quietly with a bespectacled, intelligent-looking couple. The witch was in tears, crying on the shoulder of the wizard beside her.

"All those years of work, the time we spent on the thing! Gone. Shattered. I….I… like _why_? What's the point? What. Is. The. P-p-point?"

It was not sure whether she was referring the point to someone stealing the stone and ending up in destroying it, or her having dedicated her life to creating it in the first place. Both Sebastian and Mr. Levelmind had a feeling it was the latter.

"There there now, Milts," comforted Sebastian, patting her shoulder. "This is not the be all and end all. We can always start over and re-create a copy, now that we have found out what it involves." He gave a deep sigh, as he too, felt the loss acutely. It would not be easy, nor possibly feasible even, to re-create what had been destroyed.

Militsia jerked her head up and glared at him fiercely despite her tears. "You _know_ it is not re-creatable! You _know_ that that stone was unique. You know the amount of work and time it takes to create something like that. And even then, even if we tried, it would _never_ be the same! No two stones will be. We made sure of that with all the spells we cast when we first did the research! You _know_ that! That was our gem, our pride, our baby….. I don't think I can put myself through another 100 years creating, _re-_creating, something that probably wouldn't match up to this. Second copies are never as potent as the originals. You know that!"

The outburst blew over as quickly as it had come. Militsia flushed and mumbled, "sorry. I just…." 

Christopher nodded sympathetically to let her know he understood. He knew her "sorry" meant for both the outburst and the refusal to re-create what had been lost the previous night. 

"At least," said Sebastian quietly, in an attempt to look on the bright side, "we must be thankful that the stone was destroyed, and not in the hands of the wrong person."

The thought of the alternative that could have happened was so much worse that it stopped Militsia's sobs instantly and sent a visible wave of horror across Mr. Levelmind's grave face.

One of the workers from the Ministry of Magic came up to the Head. " 'Scuse me, Minister, but we found some shards left of the stone in the Absolut Abyss. It really was a mess sir, with rocks, rubble, splinters everywhere. But the only remnants of the stone were these. The rest of the stone must have shattered so much the pieces disintegrated in the explosion."

The young man then opened his palm to reveal four shards of stone in his hand, their appearance none too captivating. A dull, dark amber and blue and covered with dirt. Militsia turned away.

"Do you not want one of these, at least to keep?" Sebastian asked her gently. 

The witch just shook her head and then broke away, walking off, turning her face towards the wind that was blowing lightly, to clear her mind.

Sebastian turned back to the young man carrying the shards in his hand. "Thanks, " he muttered as he gathered up the four dull-looking pieces of stone. The young man looked relieved to escape the tense atmosphere. Fingering the four shards, Sebastian picked up one, playing with it, feeling it, willing to even sense some of the power it had once held. But there was nothing. He sighed. Still, it was a nice looking shape, despite the grubby appearance. An inch long, one round end, with three sides tapering down to a sharp point at the other end. If one hadn't known better, one would have thought it had been cut professionally. He absently pocketed it, and then gazed at the three remaining shards. He didn't have the heart to simply chuck them away. Glancing at Militsia standing in the wind, he knew that it would be useless convincing her to take one for herself. 

Running his fingers gently over the shards one last time, he muttered "_Wingardium Aeriata."_

The shards rose and hovered into the air. With a gentle breath, Sebastian blew them into the wind, and watched them drift off into the sky until he could no longer see them. 

_"Land wherever you may,"_ he sighed, thinking to himself it was a more comforting way to rid of the remnants than the simple crude act of depositing them in the rubbish dump. Then he chided himself for being such a sentimental fool, and hoped that he had been subtle enough for the others not to have picked up on it.

*****

_1995 A.D. _

Darkness blanketed a desolated field, with its earth still damp from a recent downpour. The air lay still, saturated with moisture. The clouds overhead shifted restlessly, their ever-changing shape and form masking a sliver of pale, silvery moon. 

Brief movements flickered in the shadows, with the occasional low exchange of words. At the foot of the field stood a derelict, tumbled-down shed, almost concealed by an over-grown forest of moss and ivy. Filtering through the crevices was an incandescent glowing of green, and the voices of two people. One spluttery, squeaky, and at times, incoherent. The other hard, smooth, cold. Chilling to the bone.

A faint rumble overhead forewarned of yet another impending storm. 

"I received a calling last night," came the cold voice. 

"A calling, Master?" squeaked the other.

"Indeed. To seek the existence of an artefact, close to encompassing a thousand years of history."

"An artefact, Lord? Of a thousand years?"

"Yes," came the cold reply, now tinged with an air of impatience. "An artefact which, if my vision serves me right, was destroyed over 950 years ago, in the village of Narcarndia."

"Narcarndia, Master?"

There was a click of irritation. "Wormtail, I do not need a simpering parrot for an assistant. If you have no insightful contributions, which I doubt you do, please remain silent."

A glimpse into the shed would reveal the sight of two men. A short, plump, balding wizard with a pasty complexion and a weak chin. If one looked closely enough, on could also see the presence of a silver right hand, tucked within the folds of his black robes. Beside him stood a tall, thin wizard, whose rich red and black robes swirled round him. Turning to face his quivering servant, one could see the penetrating stare from those red eye slits, the sharp features of that cheek and jaw, and that marble white skin, just like his voice. Icy, hard and smooth. The formidable figure of Lord Voldemort.

Wormtail flinched. 

"The vision, yes. There is a stone, Wormtail, created by two famous alchemists in Narcarndia at the beginning of this millennium. A stone with the ability to give a person absolute power, total control, over the universe. A stone which grants its owner all the power in which he desires."

"Rather like the Mirror of Erised, Master?" suggested Wormtail excitedly, eager to flaunt his knowledge of enchanted artefacts.

"The Mirror of Eriseed only shows yours heart's desire Wormtail," Voldemort replied, speaking rather deliberately, as if he was explaining facts to a five-year old. "This stone _gives_ you the power you desire."

"I haven't heard of such a stone, Master. But," Wormtail hurried on, "I have no doubt of your powers of vision, my Lord. Of course not. I am just ignorant of the existence of such an artefact, Master. But your powers of vision, my Lord, are by far, commendable."

Voldemort studied Wormtail, taking in his nervous chatter. The air between them seemed to fill with the master's mocking amusement. When he did speak, his tone carried an edge of mirth.

"Indeed." He drew a breath. "The Dark Side grows stronger by the day. My Death Eaters have returned to me," he paused, as if to ponder over the faith of his supporters. "We are close to finishing the negotiations with the Dementors, our natural allies, and gathering up the banished giants."

"Of course, Master," quivered Wormtail, his voice rising to a shrill. "And _you_, the Dark Lord, are in such full command."

"If," went on Voldemort, ignoring Wormtail's jittery blubbering, "I can get hold on this stone, then the power, _all _the power, will be _mine_."

Silence ensued as Voldemort revelled in this ominous predicament. A few seconds later, Wormtail piped up hesitantly, "but my Lord, you mentioned the stone was destroyed……"

"It may have been destroyed Wormtail, as history reports it. But there appears to be, somewhere, the existence of one last remaining shard of the stone."

"Where is it, my Lord? I would be most honoured, Master, to deliver this shard to you, to be of service in strengthening the power of the Dark Lord."

"I see your devotion, Wormtail."

The grovelling wizard now squared up his shoulders with pride. "Why Master, thank you, I…"

"However," the icy voice sliced through Wormtail's grateful delight, "in a search task as important as this, a more competent envoy should be sent, don't you agree?"

The flattering tone of Wormtail was now over-shadowed by one of insolence and sullenness. "I am competent for such a task, Master, if you would allow me to be of service," he answered sulkily.

The master gave a cold laugh, reducing Wormtail once more, to a cowering state of humbleness. "I am sure, Wormtail, you will agree that some of us are endowed with more courage, loyalty and character than others."

And before Wormtail could give a petulant reply, Voldemort shot out sharply, jerking his head towards the circle of hooded Death Eaters lurking in the field outside, "fetch me Malfoy."

*

By the time week two of school had rolled past, the Hogwarts students had settled down and made themselves at home within the castle. Katya was getting through her classes easily enough, and having gotten over the initial shock of encountering Mad-Eye Moody, had come to rather secretly enjoy the Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons for all their bizarreness.

The one class that she found most nerve-wracking was Potions, with the Head of the Slytherin house, Professor Snape. She had been warned about Snape before, both by her fellow Gryffindors, as well as the odd Ravenclaw or Huffepuff student. But none of that quite prepared her for the grilling that took place during her very first lesson in the cold dungeons beside the Potions master's office. She cringed as she recalled that trying lesson…..

It had been a hard day, kicking off first with Arithmancy where the class learnt about Coquettini pyramids and Sphronic cones, followed by double Transfiguration with McGonagall, who had been even stricter than usual. The Fourth Years had been extremely trying, having forgotten most of what had been taught the previous year, when she had been wishing to move onto new things. Thus, she had poured the energy from her annoyance into the fifth-year class, resulting in an exceedingly exhausting session of attempting to change cushions into tabby cats and back again without major mishaps (Neville's cushion had turned into a mouse, which had changed back to a deflated balloon, much to McGonagall's disgust). 

After a brief lunch, it was a brain swimming with mathematical theories and Transfiguration equations, which the Fifth Year Gryffindors took to Snape's dungeons. None of them were too cheered by the fact that they had to endure yet another double class, this time, with the annoying Slytherins and their extremely unjust Head of the house. 

"Good afternoon, class," Snape said, sitting down at the teacher's desk at the front. "Today, I shall begin by quizzing you on what you should know. Let's just see how much, or little," he added, fixing his gaze on Neville, who squirmed under his gaze, "you remember."

Neville whimpered. He was sure to have forgotten everything. Potions was never a strong subject for him anyway, and the scrutinising stare of Snape along with the waft of potions brewing always served to slow his thinking more, if not freeze his brain up altogether. Ron pulled a face at Harry, while Seamus grumbled.

"Weasley, have you something disagreeable to inform me of?"

But before Ron could reply, Snape fixed Harry with such a malicious glare it seemed as if daggers would shoot out from those cold, black eyes. 

"Potter! Starting to annoy your fellow Gryffindors now, I see? How thoughtful of you. What did you say to cause Weasley such annoyance? Five points from Gryffindor!"

Harry fought to look back at Snape with defiance, and opened his mouth to protest. "I did not say anything!" he cried furiously.

Snape eyed him in silence. When he spoke, his voice was smooth and oily. "Five points for lying, and five more for answering back. _On top of,_" he pressed on, seeing Harry about to protest further, "the five for annoying Mr. Weasley!" 

Ron grabbed Harry at the back of his robes to prevent him from shooting up off his chair in anger. 

"It's no use," he mouthed to a simmering Harry as Snape surveyed the rest of the class. "Just let it go."

Growling inwardly and grinding his teeth, Harry relented. Snape's eyes then rested on Katya, who was recoiling slightly in her chair. 

"You," he snarled, "new, aren't you?"

Katya nodded.

"Speak up!"

"Yes," said Katya nervously. 

"Ekaterina Karvitskaya, what happens when you add a drop of Ocanius Acorieus to the essence of Mudrakius Elehashian? And what would be its antidote?"

"We haven't done that!" whispered Hermione to Harry. "It's in Chapter Six from this year's book! He's such a b…."

"Hermoine," snapped Snape. "What good would your answer be for Mr. Potter?"

Hermione was about to argue that she wasn't giving any answers when Harry kicked her swiftly under the table. _Better keep quiet with Snape in this mood,_ his look said. Hermione bit her lip, but kept quiet as Snape turned back to Katya, apparently too intent on drilling the new student to take off more points.

"Well," he pressed, almost challengingly.

Katya's hands fidgeted nervously, but she managed to keep her voice steady. "The addition of a drop of Ocanius Acorieus to the essence of Mudrakius Elehashian produces a potent potion called the _Dormanus _potion, able to wipe the memory of the person who drinks it and put him in a stupored sleep. The antidote is a _Memorias_ potion, made from the juice of a Guildus liver and the oil of Eschinea Aristortalis."

The Gryffindors stared in open-mouthed amazement. The Slytherins scowled. Snape gave his robes a swift swish, masking what seemed to be utmost annoyance. Dean gave Ron a wink and a thumbs-up. This should be fun. But Harry jiggled nervously in his seat as Hermione, despite looking incredibly impressed with the answer, muttered out of the corner of her mouth, "he is going to test her till she is stumped, isn't he? It is not good either way, be it she knows the answers or not."

Turning sharply back at Katya, Snape barked, causing her to jolt in her seat. "What is the common name of Darcarnitinius Chrondroitenum?"

He held Katya's eye with intent scrutiny mixed with angry contempt. The gaze was unnerving, and Katya felt her brain drain and go blank. Panicking, she stammered, "uh, er, emmm….. Darcarnitinius Chron…. Darcar_… _"

"It's commonly known as a Dragon's Claw," purred Snape, as if she should have known that in an instant. Katya bit her lip, and whispered something like "kogot dinozavra" under her breath.

"What did you say?" Snape asked dangerously, still fixing her with his unblinking stare.

"Kogot dinozavra," said Katya, in a slightly louder voice. "I-it's just the Russian…" she stalled under Snape's contemptuous look. "…..for Dragon's Claw," she trailed off.

There was a silence. When Snape spoke, his voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Next time, Miss Karviskaya, please remember that you are in Britain. And we speak English here, if you would so much as to need reminding."

"Sorry," mumbled Katya.

"Don't say you are sorry!" snapped Snape. "Just get it right the next time!"

The Slytherins snickered as Katya flushed red. The class continued on without much awkwardness as revision notes were made, and Snape quizzed the Slytherins on simpler questions, doling out House points. Five minutes before the bell was due to go, Snape moved onto the Wolfsbane Potion. 

The Wolfsbane Potion was notoriously difficult to make, both in the number of ingredients involved and the technique required in brewing it.

"Miss. Karvitskaya," said Snape, "list me, in alphabetical order, the ingredients needed to create the Wolfsbane Potion."

Katya smoothed over the feathers on her quill nervously. It was hard enough to remember the list of ingredients, but in alphabetical order?

Snape clicked his tongue impatiently. "We are running out of time, Karvitskaya. Are you going to answer my question? Or," he continued menacingly, "are you going to tell me you know only the Cyrillic alphabet?"

Across the room, Katya could see Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson sniggering. Forcing that image out of her mind, she concentrated to arrange the ingredients in order. She had always learnt them in the order in which they were added to the potion, but if Snape wished for it to be this way….

"Er… aconite, alderhive essence, extract of Cassia alata, er, em, powdered deer's bladder epithelium, e.. e.., f.., er, juice of a fennel stalk, er….."

Her mind went blank. She knew there were many more, but her mind could not for the life of her remember anything until she reached "S" which was "salamander's liver stone". Seeing Snape's look of disapproval and knowing she must have left out close to twenty ingredients between "F" and "S", she started over once more, only to have her mind go blank at "D". An attempt at trying to recite them in the order in which they were added to the potion only caused Snape to bark at her.

"I told you to recite them in alphabetical order. Don't you understand plain and simple English?"

After yet more botched attempts, she wound up so incoherent she could only repeat "aconite" several times over, with the Gryffindors throwing sympathetic glances her way. Snape lost his temper, deducted twenty points off Gryffindor for her "time malingering", and asked Malfoy instead. Malfoy recited them all off without a hitch, reading them off from a parchment under the table held out by Pansy Parkinson who had copied them all out for him.

"Don't worry. He is always like that. You should see him with Neville and Harry," said Seamus to a rather despondent Katya when the class was finally dismissed.

"Forget just Neville and Harry, he even finds fault with Hermione!"

"He just wanted to test you out and to intimidate you. Worry not. He's like that with everyone except the Slytherins. I bet you he was dead annoyed at you being able to answer the first question, that's all. That's why he asked you all the others."

"Sorry about the points," Katya mumbled.

"Deducting points off us is Snape's hobby. Never mind, it's not your fault."

The Quidditch trials were the next day. For the entire week, Ron had been incessantly talking about them. About Keeper tactics, about Quidditch, about the House team, all in between voicing doubts to Harry. "Do you think I will be good enough?""Are you sure?""I want _so_ badly to be the Keeper.""What if I get an attack of the nerves and miss everything?"

Harry tried his best to calm his friend down and to talk things through with him. He understood how nerve-wracking it could be. He had literally not been able to eat nor sleep the period leading up to the House Cup last year. He remembered vividly how his very first match was like, how everybody had heard about him being the "secret weapon" of the Gryffindor team, but no one had ever seen him in action. The expectation back then had been immense. Harry was grateful never to have had gone through trials. Professor McGonagall had literally plucked him from class and presented him as the new Seeker to Oliver Wood. He always had a nice chuckle over that. It had really all been thanks to Malfoy. Thanks to him and his taunting of Neville.

When all the students had gathered for breakfast at the Great Hall, Dumbledore stood up and tapped on his long-stemmed glass of passion fruit juice to get everyone's attention.

"A-hem," he cleared his throat, sweeping his eyes round the hall. "I have just a couple of announcements to make. First of all, as all of you are aware, the Quidditch trials are on tomorrow." 

Ron jiggled his legs anxiously, and fumbled about with his robes. A murmur of anticipation rippled through the students. 

"It will take place at the Quidditch Pitch in the morning at ten o' clock sharp. Please be on time and report to Madam Hooch and your House captain upon arrival. And good luck to everyone trying out," he finished with smile. 

"Second, the trip to Hogsmeade will be moved up to the second week in October."

Chatter broke out from the tables.

"I thought it always was on Halloween?" said Justin Finch-Fletchley to a fellow Hufflepuff boy beside him.

"Think of Zonko's!" cried Fred. "We can stock up ahead of time!" He shot Lee and George a cheeky grin.

"Good. I had just run out of Chocolate Frogs. And I am _dying_ to try Honeydukes' chocolate praline cloud puffs. My sister got some last week and she said they were out of this world!"

  
"Think of the butterbeer as well!"

"Reason being," Dumbledore continued on loudly. The chatter died down almost at once. Of course, they hadn't thought of there being a reason. Chuckling to himself in amusement, Dumbledore continued, "firstly, there is to be a Quidditch match between the Gryffindors and the Ravenclaws on the third Saturday of the month."

Harry heard Ron muttering about Keepers again, and caught the name "Kenneth Coulter", who was the Ravenclaw Keeper. Harry himself couldn't help thinking about Cho Chang. Ron and Hermione had ribbed him on occasions about his, a-hem, _liking_, for the Ravenclaw Seeker, and he had always flushed and mumbled because he couldn't exactly deny it. Nor could he deny that he was a bit disappointed when he found out Cho was already taken. 

A cold feeling settled at the pit of his stomach. Cedric had been Cho's boyfriend. And now, instead of feeling his face grow hot at the thought of Cho, and bracing himself for the playful teasing that had always ensued, all Harry could sense was a heavy heavy sense of sadness, pain and guilt. The image of Cho's stricken face upon finding out about Cedric's murder flooded before him, and he shut his eyes hard in an attempt to block it out. He drew a sharp breath. At least it wasn't Hufflepuff they were up against. He didn't know if he could face playing against a team whose captain, not to mention Seeker, was once Cedric. Harry let out the breath. Cho would be hard enough. For once, the prospect of facing the Slytherins wasn't that uninviting. At least no painful memories would be evoked. It just meant having to stomach a smirking Malfoy, and to outwit the slimy tactics of the Slytherin team in general. He could handle that.

Harry drifted back into reality just in time to catch Dumbledore saying, "… a Halloween ball, taking place in this Great Hall."

"Halloween ball? Er, when?" he asked confusedly.

"On Halloween night of course! The thirty-first. Don't you listen?" said Lavender excitedly, shooting Seamus a meaningful look.

"Like last year's Yule Ball, you are all free to pick a partner. My only rule is that Love Potions must not be used in the process of wooing your beloved," winked Dumbledore. "And as Halloween is a time when the Muggle world dresses up as witches and warlocks, I thought we could swap and dress up as characters within the Muggle world."

"A robes-free Halloween?" cried someone from the Ravenclaw table.

"By all means," replied Dumbledore. 

Cheers erupted all round. The students started discussing excitedly about fancy dresses and who would be whom. Ron bugged Hermione about famous Muggle personalities. Harry was sure he heard some of the third years at their table mention Elvis Priestley. Even up at the teachers' table, Professor Flitwick was excitedly talking about charming the Great Hall to Professor McGonagall, who was smiling despite attempting to maintain a regal composure. Professor Sprout was discussing pumpkin enchantments with Professor Sinistra, who in turn, talked about charming the ceiling of the Great Hall. The only person who remained annoyingly unexcited was Professor Snape, who scowled at the hullabaloo, by all accounts looking at if he thought Halloween do's were a complete waste of precious time.

"Well," finished Dumbledore, "enough announcements. On with the food!"

He gave his wand a flick and the tables immediately became laden with steaming bowls of porridge, and plates of sizzling bacon, sausages, eggs and hash browns. Golden slices of toast and stacks of pancakes with butter, syrup, honey and marmalade popped up on the side. 

Harry was just helping himself to the plate of hash browns when a flurry of feathers appeared overhead. Hedwig dropped a roll of parchment into Harry's out-stretched hand and proceeded to help herself to his pumpkin juice. A note fell out as Harry unrolled the seemingly blank sheet of parchment.

_Dear Harry, _read the slanted, scratchy writing,

I believe you are the rightful owner of this useful tool. It might just help you to exercise constant vigilance.

Professor A Moody

"The Marauder's Map!" whispered Ron, lowering his voice enough that only Harry and Hermoine could hear. "That's so cool he gave it back to you."

"Well, it wasn't really him who borrowed it in the first place," replied Harry, tucking it into his robes pocket. He caught Moody gazing at him, and then winking, from the teacher's table and he grinned back.He turned to Hedwig, tickling her under the chin and murmured, "so what do you think? It's the real Mad-Eye right?"

Hedwig cooed, nuzzling into Harry's hand. 

"Yeah, I'd say so," laughed Hermione.

Just then, a brown tawny owl landed on Hermione's toast. Hedwig cast the late arrival with a look of utter disapproval before flying off to the Owlery. Ron peeked over Hermione's shoulder as she untied the letter attached to the owl's leg.

"From _Bulgaria_?" he asked suspiciously. "It wouldn't be Krum again, would it?" 

Hermione stared at him, slightly annoyed at his suspicious tone. "And what if it is?"

"Why would you want to have anything to do with that geeky Slavic guy?"

"And why not? He is nice, a real gentleman. And since when did Krum become a geeky Slavic guy to you?"

Ron snorted. "Hrmmph!" he huffed, stabbing at his sausage viciously.

Hermione gave a soft jeer. Ron jumped onto it. "Excuse me?"

"Look who's talking. _I_ wasn't the one gushing and blabbering and yabbering on and on and _on_ about how he was, oh, just about the greatest Quidditch player of all time. _I_ wasn't the one who was awestruck by his Quidditch skills and Wonky Faints (Harry chuckled at that) at the Quidditch World Cup. _I_ wasn't the one who spent all of last year trying to pursue him for an autograph. _I_ wasn't the one who had a Krum _figurine_!"

Ron stared at Hermione, opening his mouth, then closing it. Then opening it again, then closing it.

"What?!" he eventually spluttered out. "He is just a flaming Quidditch player. A very…._good_… one," he forced out, as if saying the word "good" in reference to Krum was killing him. "But he's just a Quidditch player." 

Hermione tossed him a withering look. "Oh, so he is _just_ a Quidditch player now, is he? Okay. Fine by me."

Ron tore angrily at his toast, ripping off half the buttered centre along with the crust. "His autograph is so sloppy, and I do _not_ have Krum figurine!"

Harry and Hermione exchanged amused glances. That last part was an outright lie. Ron had spent days gazing at his Krum figurine after the World Cup. 

"Why are you so uptight about this anyway?" asked Harry casually, pouring maple syrup carefully over his stack of pancakes. He had a fair idea of what the answer would be, but he wanted the fun of hearing Ron confirm it for himself.

"Whaddya mean, uptight? I am _not_ uptight!"

"Could have fooled me," replied Harry, taking a bite of the pancakes. 

Ron snorted. "At least this year," he growled, "Mister Bulgaria would not be around to nab Hogwarts girls off to the ball."

From across the table, Seamus gave a snort that quickly morphed into a choke. He bowed his head, busying himself with shredding up the bacon on his plate. Ron eyed him sceptically.

"Well, you know what you have to do this time round, right? Before someone grabs the chance?" asked Dean innocently.

"Yes. I am asking the Travels Office to ban travelling between Bulgaria and Britain," retorted Ron.

Beside him, Hermione let out an exasperated noise. Ron ignored her, turning to Harry instead. "Hurry up with the pancakes. I want to get some more practice done before tomorrow's trials."

He got up abruptly from the table and turned to leave.

"Where are you going?" asked Harry, trying to wolf down his pancakes hurriedly.

"Up to the dormitory to get the broomsticks. I'll meet you at the main entrance." And with that, he marched out of the Great Hall.

_"Victor Krum figurine indeed!"_ he thought angrily as he stomped up the stairs to the boys' dorms. How _dare_ Hermione mock him about that! _He _wasn't the one who went on a _date_ with the enemy last year during the Triwizard Tournament. _He_ wasn't the one who flew across Europe to spend part of the summer in Bulgaria. _He_ wasn't the one receiving owls with no doubt, mushy, soppy gushings from someone who walked duck-footed like. _Pah!_True, he had told an outright lie about not having a figurine. But he jolly well was going to right that wrong. He would find that stupid figurine and crush it to splinters. _Then_ he wouldn't have a flaming Victor "oh the most_ wonderful _Seeker" Krum figurine.

Back down at the breakfast table, Harry caught Hermione's eye and shrugged, sighing. He gulped down the last his juice and excused himself, making his way to the front entrance. Hermione turned in utter frustration to Ginny, who was on the other side of her. 

"No offence, I know he is your brother and all that," she began, "but _what_ is the matter with him?" 

She threw up her hands in despair. Ginny gave her an apologetic look.

"Sorry about Ron. He's like that. Too darned stubborn for his own good. But," she continued slyly, "with it being Ron, I would be very flattered that he is so annoyed at you over Krum."

Hermione looked at Ginny's freckled face and smiled in spite of herself. "Really?" she mused, toying with the idea briefly, before getting worked up again. "Still, it is very annoying. I mean, all Victor and I are doing is talking about the weather!" __

Ginny chuckled. "Ron has tremendous imagination."

"I'll say," grumbled Hermione. "What do I have to do? Tattoo "Please ask me out to the ball?" in bold capitals across my forehead?"

"He'll come round. Give him some time, but he'll come round eventually," soothed Ginny wisely, giving Hermione a pat on her arm. "It always takes longer with boys," she added knowingly.

*

"Harry! Wake up. Oh gosh, I'm so nervous!"

Harry felt someone vigorously shaking his shoulder. Fending off the persistent prodding, Harry rolled over, pulled the covers over his head and snuggled back down again. 

"Harry!"

"What?" Harry's voice came muffled from under the covers.

"It's trials!"

Pushing himself up, Harry glanced bleary-eyed out the window, and then at his watch.

"Ron, it's like, five o'clock in the morning. Go back to sleep." And with that, he flopped back down onto the bed, turned over, grunted and went back to sleep.

Ron shot a dirty look at the lazy lump on the bed, and grumbling under his breath, hopped back into his bed, janked across the curtains and started reading his book on the Chudley Cannons for the hundredth time.

"As if he couldn't even sit up and talk. He knows how nerve-wracking it can be. Who was the one who was so uptight he walked round like a sick dog before that last Quidditch match? You'd think he'd be more supporting. What kind of friend is that? I am just asking for someone to talk to. You'd think if there was someone who'd understand, it'd be him."

A couple of hours later, when the sun streamed in through the dormitory window, Harry woke up, rubbed his eyes and yawned. He slid off his bed and peeked through Ron's curtains. What he saw caused him to smile to himself. Ron was sprawled out, fast asleep, on his bed, still clutching to the Chudley Cannons Annual. The players in the photos were wandering in and out as if they were under-water, evidently still groggy from sleep. He gave Ron a sharp shove under the back.

"Argh!"

"And just _who_ was the one who woke me up at some ungodly hour this morning?" questioned Harry, unable to wipe the smirk off his face.

"Er?" 

"The trials!"

"_Ack!_" 

Ron took a flying leap off the bed, slamming his annual shut in the process and landed in an unceremonious heap on the floor. Harry shook his head.

"Ron, Ron, Ron," he said in mock-pity. "It wouldn't do for you to have a sprained wrist and ankle two hours before the trails, no?"

Ron picked himself back up off the floor and took several calming breaths before changing at a more regular pace. Harry eyed him as he himself got ready for breakfast. Ron seemed to be doing okay now. So far. Aside from reciting paragraphs from the Keeper's Handbook and miming the occasional save that is.

By the time breakfast came and went however (where Harry had to force two forkfuls of scrambled eggs and half a slice of toast down his friend's throat), Ron was a jangling bundle of nerves. Harry hadn't seen him look so green since they were attacked by Aragog and his crowd of monstrous Acromantula spiders in their second year.

"Ron?" he ventured.

"Yeah?" came Ron's absent reply as he niftily performed an imaginary save.

"Nothing."

Harry went with Ron to report to Madam Hooch and Angelina while Hermione and Ginny hurried to the stands to bag good seats. The two boys walked in silence onto the pitch. Ron's face was a study of concentration and determination, his mouth was clamped in thin straight line. Which probably was for the best. Harry had a distinct suspicion that if Ron opened his mouth, what little breakfast he stomached would end up on the pitch. He was just thankful that the trial for the Gryffindors was on first, Then maybe Ron would relax slightly after that.

The whistle blew and the Gryffindors got into position, with Ron as Keeper. After fifteen minutes of a mock match, the rest of the team took it in turns to fire Quaffles through the hoops. Getting into the gist of things, relaxing slightly though still as determined as ever, Ron managed to block every single one. 

"Potter!" shouted Madam Hooch, "I know Ron is your friend and you want him on the team. But you are supposed to fire the Quaffle through the hoops, not give a five minute warning before you idly toss it through!"

Harry blushed as he tried to ignore Fred and George's laughter. But Madam Hooch was actually smiling, "okay, that's it!" She clapped her hands as the team flew back down to the ground. "Well done Weasley. Very impressive," she said, giving Ron a curt nod and a clap on the back. "Even _without_ Potter's help," she added, with a sly glance towards Harry.

The two had joined Hermione and Ginny in the stands, anxiously awaiting the results when Katie came up to Ron, grinning widely. 

"Congratulations to our new Keeper," she said, sticking her hand out for Ron to shake. 

Ron's mouth fell open. Ginny thumped him so hard on the back he flew forward into Neville. 

"You're kidding! Really??"

"Yup," said Fred, who had just come up from behind with George. "Our little Ronnie is on the team!"

"Angelina told us," grinned Katie. "Though," she looked round, feigning secrecy, "shhh, you are not supposed to know yet."

They laughed. And when the others left, Harry nudged Ron purposefully and gave him a huge wink. Ron was so overwhelmed that his incoherence and absent manner due to nerves earlier that morning had turned to incoherence and an absent manner due to awe. Harry had never seen Ron so bursting with pride and delight as when Angelina Johnson made the public announcement from the centre of the pitch, to the cheers and roars from the Gryffindors.

"And the new Keeper for the Gryffindor house team will be….. Ronald Weasley!"


	4. Chapter Three

The Power Within

Author's Notes I: Regarding the first section "London 1283", it is taken directly from "A Tale of Two Cities". I needed an example of the ultimate friendship and there isn't anything that surpasses that. I took the liberty in changing the names and adding in the necklace, but all credit otherwise goes to the great Charles Dickens himself. Apologies to Dickens' fans, and I hope Dickens would not turn in his grave at being plagiarised for some fluffy fanfic.:-P

Author's Notes II: Regarding the last section on World War II, the quote was actually found on a cellar wall in Cologne which was destroyed by bombing during WWII. I saw it used as someone's signature once and liked it so much I saved it.

Author's Notes III: The word Galadriel (as in Galadriel's Glen) comes from J. R. R. Tolkien's "Lord of the Rings". Regarding the breakfast scene with Sirius and Remus. I like to imagine them cooking without much magic. Just for the fun of it. J

Author's Notes IV: Sirius has far too many names for his own good. I was not always sure of which to use (in the narration) during the scene at Hogmeade (and for any future scenes similar this too when he takes form of the dog). Mainly I go by what comes most naturally to my head (which may or may not make sense J). It would seem that "Sirius" would be used whenever he is thinking, and pondering, as a human would. "Padfoot" when he has to present himself as a dog form, for whatever reason, but still is very much Sirius in character, and is seen by the people who know he is an Animagus (including the reader). And finally "Snuffles" would just be a sort of "stage name" for the general public, to be used only when the situation calls for pretending he is just any old dog. Hope that explains things a bit, and didn't serve to confuse you any further!

Author's Notes V: I know, I know. The shuffling regarding the players' positions for the Quidditch match is highly improbable. But when I wrote this scene and applied the circumstances, I had thought Cho Chang was a Chaser (I need to do my revision more often!). That she was something other than a Seeker actually is more suitable for the scene Harry-wise, so after I found out my faux-pas, I decided to take advantage of poetic licence. J

Usual disclaimer: It is all J. K. Rowling's. She created this whole world. I just feed off her dreams.

Now finally, on with the story!

The Power Within

Chapter 3

**London, 1283 (Muggle world) **

_The crowd in the square was getting boisterous. Swarms of townspeople surrounded the platform. A platform on which stood a foreboding-looking guillotine, its blade glistening in the noon sun. _

_ _

_Slightly off to the side, away from the crowds, was someone dressed for the gallows._

_"Are you sure about this, Francis?"_

_Francis just nodded. It was too late now anyway to change his mind._

"I just want to say… I don't know how I can ever thank you enough for this…" Colin trailed off.

_"It's okay. I made this decision. I came up with the plan, remember?"_

_"But this. To give up your life… for me?"_

_"For you and Laura. I love her too, and I love you. I would do anything, to make the both of you happy,you know that."_

_Silence._

_"I don't know how I can ever thank you for this.I want you to know that."_

_"I know," Francis gave a small smile. "Your friendship has meant the most to me. That in itself is thanks enough. This is my way of thanking you for the wonderful relationship that we had. I would sooner lose my life than lose that."_

_ _

_Colin couldn't say a word. He just grabbed hold of Francis' hand tightly. At that moment, Laura, Colin's fiancée, appeared. She looked sombre, but determined not to break down in front of the two men. Looking steadfastly into Francis' eyes, she said, "I'll, we'll, never forget what you did, what you gave up. You'll always be in our hearts, forever." She moved to give Francis a kiss on the cheek before hurrying off, before her emotions overwhelmed her._

_ _

_"Here, take this," said Colin. He removed from his neck, a chain upon which a piece of stone, fixed as a pendant, hung._

_"Your charm?"_

_"Yes. I want you to have it. As a token of our friendship. So that whenever I think of it, I'll think of you…"_

_Francis knew the charm meant a lot to Colin. He had had that pendant for ages now. Francis had always teased him about it, about that dirty piece of useless stone which his friend had found on his travels. But it ceased to be silly now. Touched, Francis accepted the gift._

_ _

_The roars from the crowd outside grew louder. The executioner had arrived. _

_"Thanks Colin. For everything."_

_"You too. You'll always be my best friend."_

_ _

_The crowd was noisy, yet to Francis, their voices and roars seemed to come from afar. As the glistening blade of the guillotine slammed down, all Francis could feel was a warmth in his chest, where the pendant hung._

_ _

_*_

_ _

_"Take the body to the furnace and burn it," the general commanded._

_ _

_Francis' body was placed in the furnace, and the door swung shut. As the flames licked up the sides of the chamber, the pendant erupted into a display of colourful sparks, before dying down. A warm glow remained until all that remained in the furnace were ashes._

_ _

***

**_1995 A.D. _**

A chill swept over him as the cloaked creatures advanced in a circle. 

_No!_

_ _

Terror seeped through his whole being. Coursing every vein, every muscle, every nerve.

_No! I am innocent! Please God! Hear me! LET me GO! I did not do it!I swear! _

_ _

The hooded figures continued their advance, oblivious to the desperate pleas. The Dementor closest to him reached out. A rotten, scabby hand from under the cloak. It reached up to lower its hood. Faceless, with a sucker for its mouth. It bent over him…..

_The Kiss. NO!!!!!! _

_ _

He tried to struggle. To run. 

_ _

_It… was…not……m…_

_ _

The world seemed to slip away. He was falling, spinning. Downwards. Sucked forever. Into a swirl of black mist…..

A scream of terror pierced right through him, making his body go rigid.

_"VOLDEMORT!"_

_ _

There was a bolt of green lightning.A cold evil laugh.The world spun round once more. He was swirling in a haze of green and white mist.

A youth with a tuft of black hair, green eyes, in Hogwarts robes and wearing glasses was walking towards him.

_James?_

The boy was clutching onto a goblet in one hand, and carrying a body under his other arm. His eyes and face were etched with shock and sorrow. He stopped a couple of paces away and raised his head towards him, a dejected plea beyond bewilderment and despair. And mouthed,_"Cedric."_

_ _

*

Sirius Black woke up with a start. Cold sweat was pouring down his face and chest. He was shaking violently. The blankets lay in a heap on the floor. His mind was racing. 

Taking several deep breaths to calm himself down, he slowly focused on his surroundings. He was in a room at the house in Galadriel's Glen, where Remus Lupin had been staying since his resignation as a professor at Hogwarts over a year ago, and where Dumbledore had told him to lie low at the beginning of the summer. The headmaster had called upon the two friends for their services then. To stand by, to be at hand for the battle against Voldemort. Sirius could see the faint ray of sunlight trickling in through the window. The day was early yet, with still a few hours' worth of sleep to go. But he knew he wouldn't be able to go back to bed. Not after that nightmare.

He made his way across the room, opened the window and breathed in some fresh air. Yes, the nightmare. He was still shaken by its vividness. Shaken, and disturbed. Not so much by the experience of Azkaban and the Dementors. He had had those dreams before, and although terrifying, he could learn to cope with them.

It had been _his_ fault after all. _Why? _If _only_….. if only. Those abject, wretched words of regret. One last-minute decision that brought about a lifetime sentence of guilt.

No. The disturbing part was what he had not dreamt before, until now. The boy in the dream was not James, his best friend from Hogwarts. It was Harry. James' son. And Sirius' godson.

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. Sirius could not shake off the haunting sight of the pain and anguish that registered in the boy's eyes. A look that he had seen the few times he had visited Harry after that night when Cedric was murdered. A look that betrayed the loss of childhood innocence; the encounter of hatred, cruelty and betrayal; the realisation of the existence of a world where the dark side of human nature reigned supreme.

And it pained him.

_"He should not have to endure that,"_ Sirius thought angrily to himself. His heart ached for the boy, his paternal instinct rising such that the anger and heartache reached a near-breaking point. He was just thankful that James and Lily never had to see this. Sirius picked the blankets up off the floor and flung them onto the bed. He was angry for Harry, angry at Voldemort, angry at himself for being so helpless in taking away some of the painful memories. 

Sirius sat at the edge of the bed, buried his head in his hands, and took several long, deep, shuddery breaths to gather his emotions. Then, shaking himself from his thoughts, he made his way to the kitchen. Might as well make himself useful by preparing some breakfast. He had just gathered the ingredients together (eggs, sausages, bacon, bread) when Remus walked in, still slightly sleep-eyed, though dressed and presentable. 

"Good morning. I see that the old dog is hunting for food already."

Sirius grinned back. "Of course. Animal instinct. I like to term it having a healthy appetite. I would have thought Moony, you'd understand that instinct well."

Remus chuckled. "I try to present a civilised demeanour," he said mildly. "Animal instinct indeed." 

Getting down to help Sirius with the cooking, he grew more serious as he noticed the tired eyes, and the slight sheen of sweat on his friend's face. "Didn't have too great a night's sleep I gather."

With his back turned looking for the butter, Sirius shrugged and shook his head slightly. Remus kept quiet. A couple of moments later, Sirius took a knife from the kitchen drawer and began to butter the toast rather violently. Remus raised his eyebrows and shot a look at him out of the corner of his eyes. And waited. When the two pieces of toast were haphazardly buttered, Sirius could contain himself no longer. He waved his hands about so vigorously the butter knife nearly flew across the kitchen. And he ranted.

"He is just a boy, Moony! Just fifteen! Barely. He should be out running worry-free, without a goddamned care in the world. Mucking about with friends. Getting into childish mischief," Sirius paused, nearly allowing himself to chuckle. But not quite. "He should not have to worry about his life being in danger. In feeling the guilt over Cedric's mur… death. In bearing the bloody burden of battling this, this whole…. _thing_," he ended almost resignedly, his animated hands hanging rather limply by his side. 

"I take it you mean Harry," said Remus quietly.

Sirius said nothing, jabbing the knife into the toast. Twisting it absently round and round, he recounted the dream to his friend, though leaving out the Azkaban part. He didn't want to recount that. He didn't want the concern, nor the pity. Not that Remus needed to be told anyhow. He had heard Sirius' screams, seen the haunted look in those eyes, only too many times.

Remus allowed a few moments to pass after Sirius had finished. "The boy is tough, you know. He has proved time and again he is able to handle the things that are thrown at him. He has shown courage and resourcefulness beyond all we could have anticipated."

"I know," Sirius sighed, "but that doesn't mean it is right. He doesn't, _shouldn't,_ have to go through all of this."

Remus silently agreed. Besides, with Sirius having his fiercely protective instinct going on overdrive, there would be no saying otherwise anyway. _In an ideal world. _To break the tension, he reached over and took the knife from Sirius. 

"Padfoot pal, I don't know about a dumb, over-protective, lovable mutt, but this werewolf prefers his morning toast to remain intact, thank you very much."

Sirius pulled out his wand and muttered a spell to patch up the dismembered toast. "Who're you calling dumb? Who as the one who got 12 O.W.L.'s and all top N.E.W.T.'s?" 

Remus rolled his eyes. Even back in the old days, Sirius never resisted the opportunity to toot his horn when it came to the O.W.L.'s. He had outstripped both Remus and James, and Lily too, by one. And had even beaten Severus Snape in Potions, which many would have thought unfeasible. James used to swear the teachers must have graded him on a "Mischief and Trouble" course for him to have gotten that extra O.W.L., and that he had _"darned well not be so damn cocky because Moony, Wormtail and myself all contributed too." _

"Morning toast, huh? So I am entitled to meddle with the afternoon ones."

Mischief and trouble O.W.L. alright. Some things never change.

"I happen to take toast only in the mornings," Remus replied coolly. "Sorry to disappoint you. I know it ruins your fun."

Sirius' eyes glinted in a way Remus knew only too well. "My fun can never be ruined. I'll just have to satisfy its demands elsewhere." He poured some oil into the frying pan Remus had in front of him on the stove, twisted around to face his friend, and beamed. "I am sure you understand."

_"Oh yes,"_ thought Remus, as he fought to keep a straight face. Any trace of amusement would only serve to egg the mutt on further. 

The oil heated up as Sirius pottered about at the back, putting the kettle on, and making the coffee. All the while pacing up and down with nervous energy, betraying the fact that he was still uptight over the dream.

"I wonder if I should owl Dumbledore. Or visit him even. You know, just to see how things are. And to get news for any plan of action." He paused, then added, "I am tired and nervous about having to just wait, I'd say he has something planned." 

"Great lying, Padfoot," complimented Remus, as he slid the sausages into the frying pan. "You are not wanting to ask Dumbledore about any plan of action. You just want to _happen _to bump into Harry." 

This was addressed as a plain statement. Sirius stopped pacing up and down the kitchen, faced his friend, and tore at his hair. 

"Dammit Moony! You know me so darned well it is bloody annoying!" he said gruffly.

Remus gave a casual shrug, but grinned inwardly. Coming from Sirius, he would take that as a compliment. "I'm your best friend. It's my job."

"Hrrmmphh," grumped Sirius as he continued to pace up and down, magicking the coffee-pot, milk, sugar, cups and saucers onto a tray and sending it out to the dining table in the living room.

_"He is up to something,"_ thought Remus, studying his friend's face as he added the bacon. He let a few minutes pass, and when all the sausages, bacon and eggs were done, and he was carrying the plates out, he turned to Sirius.

"Tell me, Padfoot. You are not going to charge into Hogwarts looking for Harry, are you? I doubt if the Fat Lady would appreciate another bout of cosmetic surgery." 

Sirius turned to him with an injured look on his face. "Really Moony!" he melodramatically clapped his hand to his heart, "you underestimate me." 

Remus' eyebrows shot up out of sight. Recovering from his "hurt" remarkably quickly, Sirius thrust a full sausage into his mouth and said, "uhhh haff vagger blans dan daadd."

"Manners, Padfoot, manners."

Sirius swallowed hard, in such a vigorous manner that Remus almost expected to see his Adam's apple bob up and down.

"I have better plans than that," repeated Sirius, taking a gulp of coffee. "Ack! Hot, hot."

"Plans?" asked Remus, ignoring Sirius' burning mouth.

"Of course," said Sirius brightly, turning back to his food and shovelling up a forkful of eggs.

And Remus knew enough not to go about extracting any more information when that grin appeared. He just hoped that whatever Sirius was coming up with, that he would be mindful enough not to walk slam into the Ministry.

*

Harry had told his godfather in his last letter about the unusually early first trip to Hogsmeade. About how Ron had been rambling on about the butterbeer from The Three Broomsticks, about how Hermione had been the walking advertisement for a "Kleen 'n' Eezy" smudge-free ink and quill set available at Dervish and Banges, about how the Weasley twins had planned to raid Zonko's, and how practically everyone was looking forward to Honeydukes. 

It was easy to weave in and out among the crowds without attracting much attention. Ambling down the main street, Padfoot helped himself to a piece of Honeydukes' chocolate caramel Neville had dropped earlier on. He had forgotten how much he missed the stuff and reminded himself to ask Remus to get some the next time he visited Hogsmeade. Looking down the road, he caught sight of the distinctive shock of red hair emerging from the post office. Ron. Strange that he was on his own, usually he, Harry and Hermione were joined at the hip. Padfoot ambled up to him.

Ron seemed rather distracted, talking to himself, and nearly knocking over an old wizard shuffling down the street.

"Kids," grumbled the wizard, as he managed to dodge Ron just in time, "never look where they are going."

"Hermione? I was just wondering if you, I mean, I would like to…like….. No no no no no. Er. Okay," Ron straightened himself up and cleared his throat. "Hermione? I have something to ask you? Would you grant me the honour of…..pah! How mimsy-pimsy proper can I get? Er, right. Ah-hem. So Hermione, I gather you heard what Dumbledore said the other day. Well, _duh_, of course you would have. Em, have you thought of who you are going to the dance with yet?" 

Ron paused, considering his last attempt. Padfoot nudged his hand. Ron absent-mindedly patted him on the head and slipped him a toffee crème. If he could, Sirius would have let out a guffaw at that point. Instead, he nearly choked on the sweet. Oblivious, Ron continued to wander, lost in thought, up the street, with Padfoot trotting beside him in amusement.

"Have you thought of who you are going to the dance with yet? Hmmm, maybe not. God, how do you do it. Why can't _girls_ do the bloody asking. Okay. Hermione? I was thinking…. I would really like it if… no. I would hoping to ask …. nah. DARN!!!"

Ron threw his head back in frustration. Then taking a few deep breaths, muttered "Hermione, would you like to go to the dance…thingy….with me?"

"Dance _thingy_?" wondered Sirius.

"Ron!" Pause. Then, "_Siri…..SNUFFLES?!"_

Padfoot jerked up his head to look further along the road. His heart leapt when he saw Harry come out of a small gift shop with Hermione following closely behind, stuffing a card into her pocket. Ron jolted out of his daydream and looked first at his two friends running towards him, and then at the black dog beside him.

"Snuffles?" he repeated dazedly.

"When did he join you, Ron?"

"Er, I don't know…I was in the post office and… I guess he just…appeared?"

Harry and Hermione were looking at him strangely. Sirius could hardly contain himself. If he were human now, he would be winking and mouthing at the two of them this very moment. For now, though, he just went up to Harry who grinned and fondled his ears. "Missed you," he said softly. 

The three of them (with Ron still looking rather out of it) and Snuffles made their way up the road. The two boys and the dog sat down on a bench set in the open space outside The Three Broomsticks while Hermione went inside the pub to get their drinks.

Harry glanced at Ron, who seemed to be still deep in thought and talking to himself. Catching a few of the words, Harry chuckled and turned to Padfoot, giving him a wink and jerking his head towards Ron. Padfoot replied with a low "woof". Harry could swear he could see a cheeky glint in the dog's eyes. 

"It's great seeing you," he said, keeping his voice low in case the people close by should catch him talking to a dog. "Even though you can't exactly talk back," he sighed, making a face. Padfoot pawed back playfully at him.

Hermione returned soon with three mugs of foaming butterbeer. "Sorry Snuffles old pal. I'm afraid Madame Rosmerta wouldn't exactly be pleased if she saw a dog drinking out of her mugs."

Sirius didn't mind really. Ron snapped out of his own little world when Hermione appeared, and the three of them spoilt him by feeding him with their Honeydukes supply, and it was bliss listening to them chattering away to each other, and to him. 

When five o'clock approached, they joined the other students gathering at the front of Honeydukes, some still getting their last-minute sweet top-ups before leaving for Hogwarts. George, Fred and Lee were huddled together, planning mischief no doubt. Harry, Hermione and Ron bid a quick, discreet goodbye as Snuffles made his way out towards the countryside. 

It had been great seeing Harry, even though they couldn't exactly "talk". There had been far too many people around that day, Hogwarts teachers included, to for them to have snuck out where Siurius could have transformed in safety. Still, it was just nice seeing him. And of course, Hermione and Ron were wonderful too. Sirius was relieved Harry had such loyal and dependable friends to fall back on. _Like James and Remus._ The anxiety he had had over his godson ever since that dream with Voldemort and Cedric lessened a little after seeing Harry chattering and laughing this afternoon. 

Plus it was just _nice_ to have seen Harry in person. God, if he could, he would kidnap Harry and keep him under his watchful eye twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. _I'm thankful you don't have any kids Padfoot,_ Remus had told him once._ I dread if you did. For the sake of the child's sanity, your nerves, and if it is a daughter, her future boyfriend's Spanish inquisition._

Sirius chuckled. He had playfully cuffed Remus' ears for that. Though, he admitted, frowning slightly, that he really wasn't that far off the mark. But there was a reason. Sirius hadn't been there for James and Lily. He would _darned well_ be there for their son, even if it killed him.

The _"missed you"_ from Harry had been wonderful, and heartbreaking, at the same time. He knew Harry had meant it more than just not having seen him since school began, and he took it so. He knew it to mean the hopes of one day being able to share a home together, when Sirius' name was cleared. He knew it to mean for Sirius to take care and be careful. And, although Harry would never openly admit to it, he knew it to mean that Harry wished for him to just _be_ around and to comfort, and even to guide, him through these difficult and unpredictable times.

Sirius gritted his teeth. He would make sure that that promise be kept. He would make certain that they would share a home together. He would make sure to look after Harry as well as any parent ever would. If it meant endless nights of searching and investigations to track down Pettigrew (Sirius' muscles tensed and he nearly bit his tongue in half in venomous rage when he thought of the cowering fool); if it meant dealing face to face with Voldemort; if it meant ripping the Dark Lord limb to limb, flesh from bone with his bare hands; so be it. 

He sighed. He knew his fantasies were… fantasies. A naïve perception of the battle that was yet to come. No one just goes up to the Dark Lord and rip him apart with his bare hands. No one would even _get_ so far as to touch him. But, for his godson, James' son, he would sooner charge headlong into a raging Hungarian Horntail's den than see Harry come to any harm.

***

**_Siberia, 1578 (Muggle world)_**

_ _

_The doctor hurried along the streets. It was bitterly cold, the snow settling up to 12 inches on the ground. He made his way to the poorest part of the village, where the only fitting word to describe the housing was "slums". The stench of rats, dirty water, disease, and death, was overpowering. He made his way into one of the most derelict-looking buildings of the derelict-looking buildings. _

_ _

_Inside, the roof was leaking, the wind blew in through the cracks in the walls. The fire, poorly fed, was close to dying out. He was taking off his hat when an old lady hurried up to the door._

_ _

_"It's the doctor!"_

_"How is she?"_

_"The mother is dead. She died half an hour ago, soon after the baby was born."_

_"And the baby?" _

_"It is dying," was the sombre answer._

_ _

_The old lady showed the doctor to a grubby mattress in the corner of the room. A young girl lay there, very pale, with dark curly hair. She would have been very pretty had it not been for the bluish tinge of cold on her skin. In her limp arms lay her baby daughter, born just over an hour ago. There were times when nothing could be done. The doctor sighed as he carried the weak baby, in an attempt to warm her until she too, lay limp in his arms. He was placing the baby back beside her mother when he noticed a small dirty piece of stone. He picked it up._

_ _

_"Oh that," said the old lady, noting his questioning look. "It was the mother's. It was the only thing she had to give her child before she died. Nothing much at all, but I guess it was something tangible, something to show the child her love. Bless her," she paused, "I guess they don't need it now…"_

_ _

_The doctor turned away. The old lady showed him to the door, and tossed the stone into the dying fire as they went past. _

_ _

_"What's that?" The doctor suddenly turned and stared at the fireplace. He could have sworn he caught sight of a few multi-coloured sparks from the fire. _

_ _

_"What's what?" asked the old lady, shivering in the doorway._

_ _

"Nothing," he muttered, shaking his head. He really needed to get more rest. The overtime he was putting in due to the winter illnesses that rampaged the village was wearing him down. He glanced back at the fire. "Your fire seems to have sparked up somewhat." 

_ _

_The old lady took a look. It was true, a warm glow was now emitting from the previously dying smoulder. She shrugged, "maybe it found one last piece of coal."_

_ _

_"Maybe."_

_ _

_The piece of coal lasted for an unusually long amount of time, while the old lady gazed sadly at the mother and daughter on the mattress until she could bear it no longer and covered the two up with a sheet._

***

** **

**1995 A.D. (Hogwarts)**

**_ _**

The morning of the Quidditch match against Ravenclaw dawned clear and bright. The sun was in blazes and there wasn't a cloud in the sky.

"We are going to be absolutely blinded," moaned Alicia Spinnet.

"Better than the rain where you can't see anything," said Katie.

Ron was shut off from all the talk at the breakfast table. He looked terrible, to put it mildly. He had hardly gotten any sleep the night before, and was playing about with the crust of his toast.

"Ron," prodded Hermione. "I really think you should attempt to eat something. You hardly ate any dinner last night either!"

"I can't. I'm too nervous. I'll just throw it all up," mumbled Ron, jiggling his feet about anxiously. He took the smallest bite of toast and seemed to chew it for an age. Eventually, Hermione gave up and just gave him an encouraging look.

"You'll be okay. I don't think there is a goal you hadn't been able to stop. So it isn't likely to start now."

Ron couldn't answer. He just stared blankly at the bacon in front of him. Harry was nervous too, though only half of the nerves were for actually himself playing in the match. He was worried about facing Cho. It was the worst of luck they played the same position. Harry already felt so guilty over Cedric he didn't know how he could face beating her in catching the Snitch. He didn't want the Gryffindors to lose the game of course, but he didn't exactly want to hurt Cho any more either. He sighed, wondering how great the possibility would be for the match to be like a rerun of last year's World Cup where Ireland won despite Krum getting the Snitch. 

Just then, Parvati came hurrying to the table, and rapidly helped herself to what remained of the breakfast. 

"I was just talking to my sister," she said as she speared up the last of the sausages. Her twin sister Padma was in Ravenclaw. "One of their Chasers is out sick with a nasty 'flu, so they have to use their reserve."

"Who's their reserve again?" asked George.

"Terry Boot," replied Parvati, buttering a slice of toast while devouring the sausages.

"Hmmm, he's not that known as a Chaser, is he?" wondered Katie out loud. "I mean, he's good," she said hurriedly, "but I would have thought more as a Seeker."

"He _is_ the Seeker," replied Parvati, draining her glass of pumpkin juice. 

"What? But I thought…." began Harry, confusedly.

"The team swapped round positions," Parvati explained, smacking her lips. "They are using Cho Chang as Chaser, and Boot'll replace her as Seeker. And Cho isn't half bad as a Chaser, Padma will tell you that," she added, turning to Angelina, Katie and Alicia, who were the Chasers for Gryffindor.

"Are you sure?" asked Harry, his spirits lifting slightly at the news.

"I haven't seen for myself, but apparently Roger Davies had said back when she joined the team two years ago that had a Chaser opening been available, he'd have made her that instead of Seeker."

"No, no, no, I didn't mean that. I meant are you sure about the swap?"

"Oh that! Yes. In fact," Parvati said giving Harry a wink, "when I was over with Padma, Cho was just warning Terry of your Wrontski Feints."

Harry felt a wave of relief wash over him. All that worry for nothing. He didn't have to worry about upsetting Terry by trying to beat him to the Snitch. 

"It'll only be for this match though," added Parvati. "It'll go back to normal when their regular Chaser is back."

Harry didn't care. There wouldn't really be a next time unless they both made it to the Quidditch House Cup final. And Harry will worry about that come the time if that was the case. So for now, it would simply be preventing his concentration from possibly lapsing in the middle of the game.

_"Focus,"_ he told himself firmly, _"just focus."_

After breakfast, the Gryffindor team headed to the changing rooms to change into their scarlet robes. Angelina gave all of them one last pep talk, clapped Ron encouragingly on the back, and sent them out onto the pitch. 

Alicia had been right when talking about the scorching sun. The players were all squinting hard, trying to shield their eyes from its ferocious glare. Harry could hear Terry Boot muttering something about sunglasses. 

The game began, and caught on fast. Quaffles and Bludgers were flying in each and every direction. Within the first ten minutes, Katie Bell scored Gryffindor's first goal.

"Alright!" cried George, giving her a huge wink.

The game continued on. Ron saved four goals, while Kenneth Coulter blocked three attempts. Two by Alicia and one by Angelina. Still, there was no sign of the Golden Snitch. Both Terry and Harry encircled the pitch, straining to spot it. The only times they geared into action were a couple of sightings of something glinting, which turned out to be only false alarms, caused by the sun's glaring into the distance.

After Ravenclaw scored its first goal, a Quaffle that came shooting unexpectedly halfway down the pitch, a time out was called for the players to cool down and relax in the shade.

After ten minutes of resting, the game recommenced. Floating above the furor of Quaffle exchanges and Bludger hits, Harry's eyes fell on Cho, sailing through the air chasing after the Quaffle. Padma had been right. She _was _good.He wondered about her. How she was feeling. Does she still have Cedric on her mind everyday? Does she carry the same image of Cedric as he did? Not the actual scene with Voldemort's curse of course, but the sight of Harry tumbling out of the Portkey clutching to Cedric's limp body. How much does she miss him? What goes through her mind, what sort of nightmarish pain does she harbour? Harry couldn't shake off the utterly stricken look she had on her face when she found out about Cedric. The sunken feeling once more settled at the pit of Harry's stomach. _Does Cho blame him for Cedric's death?_

"Harry!"

A shout from Ron jolted him out of his thoughts. He turned to Ron at the end of the pitch, just in time to see his friend nodding to the left before nearly throwing himself off his broom doing a Starfish and Stick to save a Quaffle flying into the hoop to the right. The Gryffindors below cheered.

"Oh nice save!!" shouted Hermione.

Harry grinned at Ron, before turning to the left. There, he saw Boot shooting downwards determinedly. 

_"The Snitch! He must have seen it,"_ thought Harry as he shot off after him, close to his tail. 

Harry squinted in front of him. The sun was blazing, but he could not see any shimmer of gold indicating the presence of a Snitch. There wasn't not even the sparkling of the sun's reflections. 

Further and further down the two Seekers dived. It occurred to Harry that the Terry might be deviously feinting, and he was about to remind himself to watch out for the fast approaching ground instead when he caught sight of the familiar twinkle of gold out of the corner of his right eye. He yanked his Firebolt to the right so abruptly, he almost knocked over the Ravenclaw Beater who was closely tailing him with the Bludger. The Bludger hit him square in the shoulder, and the knock, along with the force of changing direction suddenly, caused Harry to dangle precariously from his broomstick. A gasp shot through the crowds below. Clutching to his Firebolt for dear life, Harry swiped blindly at the air where he saw the Snitch. His hand closed round the smooth, hard, winged ball. 

An ear-splitting roar sounded in the stalls as the Gryffindor supporters leapt up to their feet screaming. Scarlet banners and scarves were tossed and waved. Lee Jordan was shouting down the microphone in a deafening roar, "and Harry Potter gets the Snitch! Gryffindor wins!"

With the Firebolt now just floating casually in the air, Harry climbed back onto it, the Golden Snitch still in his had, its wing beating helplessly against his palm. The rest of the Gryffindor team gathered round him, thumping him on the shoulder and high-fiving. Ron was grinning so hard his face looked as if it would split into two. Harry felt a rush of pride towards his friend. 

"Great saves, Ron!" he called out.

"Yeah," said the twins in unison. "Our baby brother, what a smashing Keeper!" 

Ron pretended to scowl at them calling him "baby" but failed miserably. The twins grabbed a hold of him and tossed him into the air, and the team collapsed in a triumphant heap on the ground. Harry felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned to face Terry Boot.

"Great job. I guess you weren't fooled by my Wrontski Feint," he winked

Harry laughed and clapped him on the back. "No, but nice try!"

Terry laughed. "Darn!"

Harry caught sight of Cho Chang over Terry's shoulder. He felt a compulsion to go over and say something to her, but he didn't know what. He debated what to do and had turned away, deciding to leave it until later when he felt another tap on his shoulder. It was Cho this time.

"That was a wonderful catch Harry. I can see you are rather fool-hardy," she said warmly, giving him a quick wink. "Congratulations."

"Er, thanks," Harry mutterd. Cho turned to leave. 

"And Cho?" he said hurriedly.

"Yes?" she asked turning towards him.

"I just want to say, I am really sorry. About, er, I mean, I couldn't…"

Cho read his mind. Her face grew serious, and saddened. But she looked at Harry straight in the eye. 

"It's okay Harry. It was not your fault. We all know that. You did your very best, which was probably more than what most of us could have done. So don't let anyone else, or yourself, convince you otherwise."

She paused, trying to control the surge of emotions engulfing her. "If anything, I have to thank you for bringing back….. Cedric's body," she finished with difficulty. Giving Harry a quick squeeze in the hand, she turned and walked swiftly away, trying to cover up the hasty wipe of her eyes with her blueQuidditch robes.

Harry turned back to Ron, and the two trudged over to where Hermione and Katya were, discussing the details of the match excitedly. They all stood, rooted in the stands chatting, as the other Gryffindors skipped past them on the way to the Great Hall for the celebratory feast.

"Hurry up you lot! You have a feast to attend!" cried Seamus, as he and Dean raced back to the castle with the others.

"Right! Be there in a sec!" called back Harry. 

The four made their way back slowly, with Ron simultaneously ranting on about his saves, and looking proudly round the pitch and at the very few people left scattered around in the stands. He seemed to have been floating on air the second the match had ended. Gazing round rather smugly as Harry talked for the tenth time about Boot's feinting, Ron caught sight of a witch with Madam Hooch, and gave a low whistle.

** **

"Oh look, Hermione," he nudged, grinning. "It's your favourite journalist."

Hermione glanced up and scowled. A witch swathed in magenta robes descended upon them. Sporting a distinctively elaborate hair-style and clutching to a crocodile-skin handbag, it was the unmistakable figure of the Daily Prophet's reporter, Rita Skeeter.

"I wonder what she wants," she grumbled.

Stopping in front of the four, the notoriously gossipy journalist threw Hermione a look of utter contempt before turning to Harry, ignoring the others. 

"Mr. Potter, congratulations on just a _spectacular_ match!"

"Er, thanks," muttered Harry, eyeing Rita warily. He wondered what she was up to now. The journalist had caused him more than enough grief last year with her gossipy column in the Daily Prophet. Rita Skeeter pulled out a roll of parchment and her long acid-green quill in a business-like manner, settling them in front of her in an exaggerated flourish.

"Would you care to describe to me the match, in your own words?"

"Erm…"

"I am sure it would be fabulous, just _wonderful_, if readers could experience that match from a player's point of view. And I am sure you have plenty to tell us."

She fixed her eyes, framed by her jewelled spectacles, onto Harry. And his scar. Harry shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.

"Players? I am sure there are others here," he glanced up at Ron, who was desperately hiding behind Katya, mouthing, "No! No way!"

"Tell me, your father was a Quidditch player too, right? And there are tales of exactly how amazing he was. How does it feel to live up to his reputation?"

Harry's face hardened, becoming unreadable. 

The Quick-Quotes Quill started scribbling, in its own will, on the sheet of parchment:

Harry Potter still remains in painful silence whenever the discussion of his beloved late father arises. It is apparent a tangible hurt lies within his soul, and tears threaten to overflow at the mention of his courageous parents.

"I do not have tears threatening to overflow," roared Harry.

Leaping to the defence of such uncontrollable emotions, Mr Potter's anger is only a shield masking the terrible anguish of his heart.

"It's not! I don't want to…"

Katya, who had been reading the quick quotes notes in amazement, couldn't hide a smirk.

"Ekaterina Vyacheslavovna Karvitskaya," growled Harry, ignoring Rita Skeeter altogether, "don't you even dare think of laughing."

At the mention of Katya's name, Rita swivelled round, as if noting the others' presence for the first time. 

"Karvitskaya? Ekaterina Karvitskaya?"

"Yes?" replied Katya guardedly, seeming suspicious at how this overly dramatic journalist would seem to recognise her name.

"Daughter of the great Irina Fyodorovna Drushkina?"

Hermione gasped. Ron and Harry looked blank. Katya's expression grew cagey. The Quick-Quotes Quill trembled with excitement as it rapidly scribbled:

Ekaterina Vyacheslavovna Karvitskaya, daughter of the legendary Russian Auror Irina Fyodorovna, is currently studying at Hogwarts, and has made friends with the famous Harry Potter. 

"Tell me," Rita pressed on, oblivious to the closed off look on Katya's face, "when did you enter Hogwarts? You were not here last year, I do not think. What made you decide to change schools?"

Katya remained silent. 

"How is it like to have such a celebrated mother? What is your experience of You-Know-Who?"

"I don't want to say….."

When asked about her mother, Karvitskaya's eyes too, fill with tears. It is obvious the years have not wiped away the pain and sorrow, the utter tragedy and loss. She and Harry Potter share a similar past, they share a special bond and understanding. It is comforting to know that they can look to each other for support, to perhaps reduce the number of nights where crying is the only solution to fall asleep.

"What?!" hollered Harry. "That is not true!"

"True for Ekaterina here maybe?" whispered Rita loftily. "Tell me child, how is it like to grow up without a mother?"

"My father did a great job," replied Katya, through clenched teeth.

"Does he talk a lot to you about her? You _do_ know the circumstances surrounding the defeat of her circle of Aurors, don't you?" asked Rita silkily. "A rare show of _incompetence_?"

At that point, Katya stiffened, biting her lip so hard Hermione could see a drop of blood seeping from underneath her teeth.

"Excuse me, but I have to go," she said in a low but even voice. And with that, she turned and hurried off before anyone could stop her. Rita stared after her for a few moments and then turned back to Harry. 

"So," she said brightly, as if nothing had happened at all. "I hear Cedric used to be a Seeker as well. How…."

Harry paled, and then glared at the infuriating woman. 

"How _dare_ you mention Cedric!" he spluttered, before he too, turned and followed Katya. Ron and Hermione fixed murderous glances at Rita. Hermione made a snatch at the Quick-Quotes Quill and missed, finding herself staring face-to-face with the irritating reporter. 

"I thought I made you promise not to write untruths," she said tightly, her jaw set hard.

Clearly undaunted, Rita threw her a knowing look. "The truth, er? Why don't you just ask your friend?" She tossed a lofty glance over to where Katya was, marching rapidly back up to the tower. And with that, she gathered up her quill and parchment with a flourish, and swept away.

*

Ron and Hermione found Katya curled up in a chair in the common room, with Harry sitting on the floor in front of her.

"Kat, she's like that. She gave me endless grief last year when she came to interrogate me, claiming she was covering the Triwizard Tournament. You saw what that quill was writing yourself," Harry was saying when Ron and Hermione climbed through the portrait hole.

"And Hermione here," he continued, nodding his head toward the two coming up to join them, "sure got more than her fair share of tabloid mistruths."

Hermione made an angry noise. "Tell me about it! It got Ron's mum against me for ages! She wrote that I was mistreating Harry!"

She paused, and then asked quietly, "Kat, how come you never mentioned who your mother was?"

Katya's eyes flickered up to meet her for a brief moment. "The subject never came up," she lowered her gaze once more. "And besides there isn't much to say."

"There _isn't much to say_?" exclaimed Hermione incredulously. "Katya, your mother was Irina Fyodorovna Drushkina!" Calming down slightly, she carried on, "I never realised. It never occurred to me. I mean, you don't have the same family name to begin with."

"She kept her maiden name for her profession," replied Katya.

"Okay, I have to ask, who _is_ this Irina person?" asked Ron. Harry nodded too, as if wanting to know the answer himself. Hermione clicked her tongue in impatience.

"She was _only_ just the most amazing Auror the Soviet Union ever had," she replied sarcastically. "If you guys would only _read _more, or pay attention during Professor Binn's classes."

Ron rolled his eyes. "We do not camp out in the library Hermione, and the History of Magic is boring!"

Hermione waved off his excuses. "She was amazing, Ron. About the Russian equivalent of Mad-Eye Moody."

"What happened? What was Rita talking about when she mentioned the defeat and this rare show of incompetence?"

  
"It was _not_ a rare show of incompetence," flared up Katya. The other three turned to look at her as she uncurled herself from her chair. "They were betrayed," she continued more steadily. "There was a Death Eater spy who was working for the Ministry, leaking secrets to the Dark Lord. And the Aurors were hit when they least expected it."

_"Just like Neville's parents," _thought Harry, recalling what he saw in Dumbledore's Pensieve earlier in the year.

"It happened years ago, during the last few months before the Lord's fall from power," she said glancing at Harry before continuing. "I wasn't even one then. You-Know-Who found out about their plans and the Death Eaters ambushed a secret meeting the Aurors were having at the time."

Hermione gazed at the fire, not quite knowing what to say. 

"I was raised then by two Muggles. My father, and my godmother. It was a magic-free life, except for when I was accepted into Rastorovsky's, of course. But I didn't mind that. I loved just living a regular non-magic life, especially given the circumstances of my mother's death. My godmother was fabulous, it was just like having a real mother. But when she died last year from a cancer related to the Chernobyl disaster, Dad decided it was time to just start anew. Hence he accepted the transfer to England." She swallowed hard. 

"Chernobyl? What's cancer?" asked Ron.

"Oh," Katya faltered, trying to think of a way to explain it, and eventually shrugged and said, "it's a Muggle disaster and a Muggle disease."

Ron nodded. "Still, it is surprising you haven't even mentioned it before," he pressed on. Harry remained silent, thinking how Neville never mentions _his_ parents.

"Well, as I said, there isn't much to tell. I don't know an awful lot about her."

"Don't know an awful lot?" asked Hermione in astonishment. "There are books upon books on Aurors in the Eastern European nations, and all of them mention Irina Drushkina! She is like, legendary. I have read so much about her. Fancy being her daughter!" 

"Sure, I have read a lot about her in just about every history book around," said Katya softly, pleating her robes into neat folds. "And everybody mentions her much the way you do now, Hermione. The awe and respect and admiration she inspired in just about everyone. It _is_ pretty cool," she looked up smiling wanly. Then looking down at her pleats once more, she carried on, "but as a daughter, I don't want to learn about how she fought against the Dark Side and what powers she was capable of, or how she and her troops captured thirty six Death-Eaters once in Siberia. I… I want to know her as….. as a _mother._ I want to have experienced how life would have been like with her. I want to know what she was like in the kitchen, what her cooking was like, her voice, if she could sing, her hobbies. Did she play Quidditch? Could she draw? What did she like best in school, or what was she best at? I want to know about her favourite colour, or book, or song. I want to be able to distinguish her by the scent of her perfume, or to hear her laughter or to feel her embrace. To have had her put braids in my hair when I was younger, to visit the toy stores with her. And to chuckle over girly stuff with her as I grew older, to ask her advice on, or joke with her over, clothes, make-up, or dates. But I'll never _get_ to find all that out. And so there isn't really very much to say."

There was a silence as this sank in. Hermione's eyes filled with tears.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "Could you not ask your father?"

  
Katya shook her head. "I've tried before, lots of times. But he doesn't like talking about it much. He shuts off when I mention her. They were so incredibly in love, he was in shock when she was murdered. I don't think he has ever gotten over her death, and it is so painful for him to recall those memories. I don't like evoking them because it just hurts too much."

The others looked on sympathetically. There really wasn't very much to say. Katya fumbled about her robes and pulled out a silver locket on a chain, which she had kept hidden underneath her robes. The locket had a rounded oval shape, forming hollow space within. Through the celtic-like design of the cover, Harry could just about make out a dull amber and blue coloured object encased in the hollow. 

"This was my mother's," Katya said, fingering it tenderly. "Dad told me it was her charm. A sort of talisman. She kept it with her at all times, ever since she got this shard of stone for Easter when she was sixteen." She opened the locket and took out the dull piece of stone so the others could take a closer look. "This shard had been passed down the family for centuries and it was sort of an heirloom thing, and then she made it into a charm for herself."

Putting the shard back into the locket, she went on, "Dad had said he was going to give it to me when I turned sixteen. But after my godmother died, he thought it was more appropriate then, so here it is." 

"I think that is a lovely idea, the talisman," murmured Hermione.

"Aren't you afraid the locket would open accidentally and the shard falls out?" asked Ron.

Katya grinned, lightening up the first time since her meeting with Rita Skeeter. "Really Ron! Am I a witch or not? I put a locking charm on it." She touched her wand to the locket and muttered, "_serreia_!" before tucking it back underneath her robes once more.

***

**Cologne, World War II (Muggle world) **

_Fighter planes roared overhead. Gunshots sounded from all corners of the trenches. Bombs fell around like pelting rain._

_ _

_Inside a cellar, hiding from the blitz outside, a soldier was scrawling on the wall. His mate joined him as he was finishing off._

_ _

_"Whatcha' writin'?"_

_"Nothin'."_

_"Yeah right."_

_ _

_His friend moved up to take a closer look._

_ _

"I believe in the sun, even when it is not shining. 

I believe in love, even when I do not feel it. 

I believe in God, even when He is silent."

_ _

_"You got some faith haven't ya, ole pal?" The friend was teasing, but the teasing tone could not mask the hint of admiration in his voice. Many people wished they had the faith and belief that George here had. It seemed to keep him going at the roughest of times, giving him the morale and courage to keep fighting, fuelling his desire to live._

_ _

_George shrugged as he tossed aside the piece of stone he had been using to scrawl the quote. Being at war posed more disadvantages than one would think. The lack of pens and paper was one of them._

_ _

_"I wish I had your faith, pal," said his friend, after a moment's silence. "It is so beautiful and meaningful to have such a belief to live for."_

_ _

_A deafening roar of bomber planes passed overhead. And a few seconds later, all that was left of the cellar was a crater in the ground. A soft warm glow lay half-hidden, embedded in the earth and rubble. No one noticed, but it remained there until night fell, and the bitter cold sank in._

_ _

***


	5. Chapter Four

The Power Within

Author's Notes: The lead-in is set in the wizarding world this time. A few keys: Dyedushka is the Russian for grandfather, dyeti means children, privyet and zdrasvituiye mean hello, and poka means cheers or bye.

Usual Disclaimer: It is all J. K. Rowling's. She created this world. I just feed off her dreams.

Additional Disclaimer: The cameo appearances/mentions of Hans Solo, Princess Leia, Luke Skywalker, Darth Vader and Chewbacca are all George Lucas'. I do not own them. Please give all credit to him and his Star Wars trilogy. And the James Bond cameo of course, is courtesy of Ian Fleming.

The Power Within

** **

Chapter 4 

Leningrad/St. Petersburg, 1486 

_ _

Kyudtsky Prospekt (St. Petersburg's answer to London's Diagon Alley) was bustling with activity. With it being the first Saturday of the summer holidays, it just added all the more to the crowds. Kids were dragging their parents into Dyedushka's Dyeti-land, famous for its toys, enchanted rides and games and its children-orientated service. Teen witches were in in-depth discussion over Madame Parisienne's cosmetic counter. Teen wizards were boisterously setting off Inexhaustible Exploding Cauldrons at The Court Jester's joke shop.Grown-ups were gathered round booths at The Seven Plateaus swigging from cool casks of frothy beer or daintily sipping at iced marguerites out of stemmed glasses. Across the road, their kids were digging into their over-flowing ice-cream sundaes and drinking butterbeer at Count Corelini's Confectionary Corner.

Anastasia and Dmitry threaded their way through the crowds, squeezing past a group of kids gathered around the puppet stall, enthralled by the weekly Saturday afternoon show, and dodged a misdirected Quaffle coming from a group of teen wizards trying out The Complete Quidditch Do-It-Yourself Home Set-Up which had recently arrived at the Russian branch of Quality Quidditch Supplies. 

Dmitry paused to look at the front window display at The Court Jester's before Anastasia whisked him away and propelled him down the street. 

"Hey! I was busy there!"

"Yeah right."

"Yes, I was. I was calculating how many of those Dung Bombs I could afford."

Anastasia rolled her eyes. "Honestly Dima, you could just think about spending your money on something more useful?"

Dima snorted. "So what's so useful about what you are thinking of buying with your birthday money?"

Anastasia came to a stop at a small, ancient-looking shop, tucked away in the midst of its more colourful and vibrant counterparts that lined the main street. Across the front door, written in fancy old calligraphy lettering, were the words "Mystical Curiosity – The World of Spiritual Magic". She turned and gave Dmitry a defiant look. 

"At least it can be a keepsake. Instead of lasting for, oh, all of one second. Plus stinking the whole place up."

"But that's the fun in the whole thing, Nastya!"

Nastya rolled her eyes before pushing open the door to the small shop. 

"Wish you'd just loosen up a little," grumbled Dima under his breath as he followed her into the shop.

The bell tinkled as they entered. It was rather dark inside and, in Dima's opinion, rather musty. He went off on his own and glanced idly at the various trinkets while Nastya browsed through the shop with interest. 

It was a very intriguing shop, if one was into trinkets, baubles and bits 'n' bobs. Hanging from the ceiling were chimes of all shapes and sizes which twinkled in the faint sunlight shining through from the shop window. Brightly coloured paper birds dangling from a carousel – _We sing any tune you wish to hear. Just call the name and we will oblige!_ -Nastya was tempted to test it by asking them to sing "Kalinka" but decided against it, in case she didn't know how to stop them. Although the ceiling was crowded with dangling apparatus, some of which hung so low one had to duck to avoid hitting them, the shelves were even more crammed. Rows of baskets lined the shelves on the walls, filled with charms of all imaginable shapes and sizes and origin: werewolf fangs, dragon teeth, peacock feathers, stones (choice of cut or uncut) in all sorts of colours, some which shimmered, some which glowed, some which twinkled, some which changed colours every so often. Necklaces and bracelets, earrings and rings made from such stones were also on display. Alphabet pearls and beads lay in one of the baskets – _Choose your true love's name and spell it out with a necklace or bracelet! Letters invisible to all but the owner!_

The centre of the shop had tables piled high with ancient spell books, tales of mystical creatures, Do-It-Yourself guides to palmistry, crystal ball gazing, tea-leaf reading, astronomy charts and star gazing maps to foresee the future.

Dima picked up a dusty copy of "Stars and How to Foresee Your Future" and snorted._"Load of crappy bullshit,"_ he thought to himself. "_As if we don't hear enough of this from Fairovskaya."_

He wished Nastya would hurry up and pick what she wanted. A small cluttered shop like this always made him nervous about knocking anything over. And he badly wanted to check out the latest broom that arrived just that morning at Boris's Broomsticks.

Nastya tore herself away from the display of stones and beads and made her way up to the other end of the shop. They always had bargain offers at the counter. 

"Privyet, Nastya," said a quiet, fragile sounding voice. An old wizard with a silvery mane of hair and an equally silvery long beard appeared from behind the bead curtain dividing the back of the shop from the counter. "What can I do for you today?" 

"Zdrasvituiye, Mr. Kutyanienko. Just looking. I got some birthday money and was hoping to maybe pick up something here."

"Ah, so it's sweet sixteen now, nyet?" He nodded, and then with eyes twinkling and jerking his head in Dima's direction, he lowered his voice, "how about a true love necklace or bracelet? Though I doubt if you would really need the young man's name to be invisible." 

Nastya grinned. She didn't mind the teasing, and it was true everyone knew she and Dima were an item. Laughing, she said, "Nah, half the fun in those is having it a secret only for yourself."

She rooted through the bargain baskets at the counter. As usual, it contained statuettes of magical creatures such as phoenixes, unicorns, dragons, hippogriffs, mermaids, fairies, pixies. Some cruder, cheaper-looking and more gimmicky than others, rather like those from tacky souvenir stands in the Muggle world. Some were more detailed, but she had plenty of those already.

"I'm afraid there isn't anything too interesting in the bargain basket this time," said Mr. Kutyanienko, as he observed Nastya going through the baskets, "or I would have kept it aside for you."

Nastya nodded. This was true. Mr. Kutyanienko had always kept trinkets and ornaments which he thought might interest her aside, and over the years, her collection had built up so much that her mother was forever threatening to chuck them all out of the house when she was away during the school term. She never carried out the threat though. Nastya suspected that her mother secretly liked the "junk" herself.

She was about to leave it at that and return in a couple of weeks when something might have come in when she spotted a dull looking shard of stone at the bottom of one of the baskets. In itself, the shard was far from interesting, but it just looked different amongst the clutter of gaudy unicorns and phoenixes. She picked it up and fingered it. 

"That," said Mr. Kutyanienko. "Someone threw that in with the lot," he gestured to the recently acquired pile of books displayed on the table in the centre of the shop which Nastya noted was on power and soul searching. "Said there was nothing in it, piece of dirty grub." He shrugged, then added more ominously, "but you never know."

Dima had just come up to hurry Nastya and caught the last words. He rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner.

"As if!"

Mr. Kutyanienko chuckled, not in the least insulted. "Young men nowadays! No respect for ancient forms of magic." He shook his head in mock sorrow.

Dima flashed a grin. " 'Course not. Ancient powers, palm reading, orb gazing and all that junk. Get enough, more than enough, of that in our Divination class." He made a face. "Most of them seem to predict fate and how you are going to die a horrible death in the next twenty-four hours anyway. I prefer to enjoy my life and just worry about being dead when I er…. get there." 

Nastya focused upwards at the ceiling during the outburst while Mr. Kutyanienko eyed Dima with amusement. He was used to Dima's careless attitude towards what people classified as the abstract and intangible. He turned back to Nastya, who was still fingering the stone. 

"You like that?" 

Nastya shrugged. It was in no way enchanting, or even pretty, especially when compared to the rest of the shop's assortment, but there was something oddly comforting which she sensed when fondling it. Mr. Kutyanienko seemed to read her thoughts.

"I'll give you that for five knuts, and throw in a peacock's feather at it," he said, grinning.

"Oh thanks! I'll take it then." 

Dima sighed with relief as Nastya paid up and made her way to the exit. He had had enough of the queer musty and cluttered shop. He wanted to get out into the sun and have a triple chocolate ice-cream sundae.

"Poka, Nastya, Dima, and have a nice day!"

"Poka, Mr. Kutyanienko!"

The two made their way back up the street and past the puppet stall, where the kids were dispersing now the show was over. 

"I can't believe you spent your birthday money on a stone! A grubby shard!"

"It was only a fraction of the money. Five knuts. Besides, who knows? Maybe the shard does have something."

Dima groaned loudly. "Oh please. Spare me." He took the shard from Nastya and held it up in his palm, pretending to squint at it in the sunlight. Putting on a distant, spooky voice, he said, "look, look at the….er…." he paused, searching to find a word to replace orb. "Look at the _prism_. It tells of…… great _tragedy_. I see a dark shadow….. oh, Mr. Dmitry Viktorivich Kotarovsky is going to break a leg when practising Quidditch tomorrow afternoon."

Nastya clucked, "Dima…." she said warningly.

"Oh, and look. Goodness, I saw a ……._grim!_" Dima said in exaggerated mock horror. "For Miss Anastasia Vyasheslavovna Krutskya. Such a horrific fate! And wait," Dima continued, fending off Nastya who was clamouring to grab back the shard, "I see, I see, I see Russia versus Bulgaria at the Quidditch World Cup! Oh, Bulgaria is leading. Bulgarian Seeker Titov gets the Snitch! Bulgaria wins!"

Dima glanced at a glaring Nastya, who was tapping her foot on the sidewalk, hands on her hips. 

"No, that is bad." He gazed at the stone's prism once more. "Ah! _Russia_ is leading. Russian Seeker Yukarov gets the Snitch! Wonderful dive! The crowd is on its feet. _Russia wins the World Cup!_"

He turned to Nastya. "That's better."

Nastya rolled her eyes and gave him a mock annoyed glare before snatching the stone away from him. "Do you mind? We _are_ in the middle of the town centre here."

Dima looked round and saw a few people staring at the two, chuckling. "Sorry," he said, not looking sorry at all. In fact, looking rather pleased with himself. Almost cocky. Nastya sighed. At least most people knew Dima to be a joker.

"I still can't believe you bought a shard! A _shard_! Geez! If it were me, I'd be getting that Flasher 100. Or at least saving up for it." Dima threw his arms up in the air in despair (at Nastya's money spending decision obviously). "And you tell me off for thinking of buying Dung Bombs?!"

Nastya shook her head and hid a smile. "_This ribbing is going to going on for a _

_l-o-n-g time,"_ she thought to herself, as they made their way to Boris's Broomsticks to join the crowd of Flasher100 admirers.

***

_1995 A.D. (Hogwarts)_

_ _

In the days after the match, Ron walked around the castle in a daze. 

"I can't believe we won!" he would marvel. "I actually was part of the team in beating the Ravenclaws!"

Harry, on the other hand, had other things on his mind. The trials were over. The Hogsmeade trip was over. The first Quidditch match of the season was over. The next thing on the agenda was the Halloween ball. And he was yet to find someone to go with. 

Well, technically that wasn't completely true. He had an idea about who he would like, but he just hadn't gotten round to asking her yet. It was… difficult. He was starting to understand Ron's volatile outbursts whenever the subject of Hermione came up. 

He sighed. The image of a slender, red-haired girl floated before his eyes. Ginny Weasley. It had never even occurred to him before. He had always seen her as Ron's little sister, and someone who was rather over-whelmed in his presence. It was no secret that Ginny had rather a huge crush on Harry. There had been that Get-Well card. Not to mention the Valentine in his second year. Harry smiled slightly. It had been mortifying at the time, for both of them. Draco Malfoy had been present when the delivery elf had insisted on publicly reciting out that infamous verse, and he had snided about it in his usual spiteful manner. But now, Harry was slightly alarmed to find himself thinking it endearing. Still embarrassing maybe, but sweet. She had tried so hard. He had been rather taken by how Ginny had developed, from the awkward ten-year old she had been when he had first met her, too young to even start at Hogwarts, to the, yes, quite attractive, red-haired young lady he saw before him now. Even her freckles had a curious appeal to them….. and that red hair…..

He shook himself. _"Ginny?"_ he wondered to himself, almost shocked to find himself harbouring such a feeling towards her. It had never manifested itself before. Not this strongly. There had always been Cho instead. Harry's thoughts drifted back to Ginny, the tongue-tied girl who had peeked at him in shy curiosity at Platform 9 ¾'s over four years ago. Ginny, who had clumsily dropped her knife and accidentally planted her elbow in the butter dish at the Weasley breakfast table because she had been gazing at him in awe. Ginny, pale and close to death, lying in the Chamber of Secrets, as she faced Tom Riddle. He wondered for exactly how long had this feeling been residing inside him, lying dormant, until now. It wasn't too unsettling, not really. Just…. _different_.

For the first time since discovering Sirius was his godfather, Harry wished he could have a mother to hint at about his feelings. Sirius was fabulous, very easy to talk to, very approachable, very eager to fulfil his duties as a godfather. Harry knew his godfather would do his utmost to assist and to give advice for any problems Harry might have. But somehow Harry could not see himself writing,

_Dear Sirius,_

_ _

_I have a bit of a problem. It's not a problem really, but I was wondering… have you ever had a girlfriend?_

_ _

No. No way. Harry could just see Sirius' cheeky smirk plastered across his face reading that. And probably Professor Lupin would be beside him, shaking his head gently saying, "Padfoot, give the boy a break." But even so, there would be that devilish twinkle in Lupin's eyes.

_Sirius, just wondering if you ever had to ask a girl out? Someone you never realised you really liked until now. How…_

_ _

No. No no no no no. He thought about the times when Mrs. Weasley had been in childish giggles with Ginny and Hermione over what had to be "girly talk". He was envious. It was alright for Hermione and Ginny. Mrs. Weasley had always been like a mother to Harry. The whole Weasley family had more or less adopted him as their own. But he couldn't very well write to Mrs. Weasley and say:

_Dear Mrs. Weasley,_

_ _

_Ron did a wonderful job as Keeper in our last match. I am sure you have gotten his five foot-long letter giving you a blow-by-blow account of the match against Ravenclaw. _

_ _

_By the way, I think I really fancy your daughter. Could you give me any advice on how to ask her out for the Halloween ball?_

_ _

_Thanks, _

_Harry_

_ _

Harry laughed out loud in spite of himself. No. Not unless he wanted to show his face in front of the Weasleys again.

Sigh. The ball was in five days.

For the following couple of days, Harry debated constantly about whether to ask Ron about Ginny. But each and every time he gathered himself up to ask, he had stopped short. He had also been trying to avoid Ginny, as if he was afraid she would sense his feelings just by looking at him. Yet at the same time, he couldn't help observing her, in what he had hoped to be a surreptitious manner, out of the corner of his eye during their times together at the dinner table or common room. If Ginny had noticed Harry's strange behaviour, she said nothing. But Harry could see her looking sometimes confused, sometimes hurt, when he avoided her. He kicked himself hard. 

_"You'd think anyone having faced Voldemort five times and come away alive would have no problems popping a simple question,"_ he thought angrily to himself. Of course, that would be if he could call asking Ginny out simple.

With just two more days to Halloween, the push to do the actual asking came unexpectedly from Hermione. Harry and Ron had been lounging in the common room, lazing about after finishing a boring History of Magic essay detailing the treaties signed during the 1679 Rebellion of the Ghouls. It was a bright sunny afternoon, and the rest of the Gryffindors were either in class, or talking a walk in the grounds. There was a bang as Hermione pushed open the portrait hole, and stalked right up to the two of them, her face set, meaning business.

"Okay. Out with it you two," she said, standing in between the two boys, hands on her hips, alternating her glare from one to the other.

"Out with what?" Ron sprawled out even more in his chair, popping a Chocolate Frog in his mouth and idly turning the page of an old copy of "Quidditch Monthly".

Hermione's irritation increased at Ron's non-chalance. "What have you been doing to Ginny?"

Harry sat up straight at the mention of Ginny's name. Hermione turned round to face him.

"What?" said Harry, suddenly busying himself with his fingertips, inwardly kicking himself for reacting so abruptly. 

Hermione didn't reply, but her look was enough to indicate what she was thinking. Harry couldn't help but think she looked awfully like Mrs Weasley thwarting one of the twins' numerous pranks. He tried to make his face as innocent and as clueless as possible.

Hermione only hardened her look. "You are worse than Sirius. Quit looking innocent because it isn't going to work."

Ron chuckled. Then, turning more serious, asked, "what about Ginny though?" 

Harry busied himself with fiddling with the Matroushka doll set Katya had placed in the common room for display. He didn't want to get into this mess.

"Oh, as if you don't know," Hermione replied, though she shot a deliberate look at Harry. "I asked her about who she was going with for the Halloween ball and she said no one, and that she doesn't care anymore."

"Right so too. Silly things," Ron muttered. "I mean," he back-tracked, seeing the look on his friend's face, "it is fine going with _you_, I mean, we are…. I mean, I …. I mean….." Ron broke off, stammering, the tips of his ears turning the colour of his hair. Hermione stood there, waiting. 

"Uh-huh."

Harry surreptitiously knocked a pen to the ground so he would have the excuse to duck under the table to hide a grin while retrieving it. 

"I mean, I like you…..kinda….." Ron faltered and then gathered up speed and blurted out in one breath, "I asked you to it you said yes and so we are going and so it's not silly so there."

Despite not being a Prince Charming (or even a Fred and George Weasley for that matter), Harry had to wonder if there was any less romantic way to phrase a date. Not that he was expecting Ron to go round with puppy-dog eyes, carting red roses and reciting love poems (at least not in public) but he could have come up with something less technical than what he had just rambled off. Okay, so Harry himself hadn't even figured out a way to ask a girl, but still. He was working on it……

Hermione apparently, was used enough to this to bother taking any offence. "I just thought that Harry would've maybe asked her, that's all," she said, tossing a casual look towards Harry. 

Before Harry even had the chance to flush, Ron leapt out of his chair and glared, "He. Is NOT. Going out with my baby sister!!"

"For heaven's sake Ron! She is not a _baby_ sister! She is one year younger than you are. One year! That is nothing!"

"That is so!"

"So what? You are going to admit to being Fred and George's baby brother?" 

"Never!" Ron yelled.

"So? What makes you think that Ginny can be referred to as "baby" when she is one year younger, while you can't be when you are two years behind the twins?"

"Because."

"Because what?"

"Because….because…..I mean, she is a girl…." Ron faltered, knowing full well this was not a convincing answer.

Hermione gave him a withering look. "And girls aren't as grown-up as boys I see," she said in a dangerous voice. 

"I didn't mean that. I just meant….. Look, she is the only girl in the family."

"So you wish for her to remain a spinster?"

"No!" exclaimed Ron exasperated.

"Well?"

"_She _is my sister. _He_," nodding towards Harry, who was eyeing the heated conversation from his chair, "is my best friend."

"And?"

"It's darned weird. That's what!" Ron exclaimed. "Best friend being a brother-in-law," he muttered under his breath.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Good grief!"

But Harry had had enough. Ron's reaction had actually surprised him, and he wasn't sure if he liked it. He stood up and glared at the two of them.

"_Excuse me._ I don't think I need two of my best friends to argue about _my_ love life for me here." 

"I was only telling Ron….."

"And I am saying….."

"And _I_ say I can handle my love life well enough myself thank you very much. I can't believe two people would argue about who I can or cannot pair up with, _while I am in the room_!" 

However, idiotic as it was, Harry couldn't help but be amused at how heated the two got over it. It was a welcome change to the concerned motherly looks they have been giving him for the past two years, as if he was going to be abducted or stricken by a bolt of green lightning and the words _Avada Kedavra_ any second. And in a rather twisted sense of humour, if they were arguing about love lives and marriages for him, it would mean they did think he would stay alive for several years yet. Chiding himself for even joking about a life/death situation, he admitted to himself that it _was_ better this than to have their worried concerns reminiscent of Professor Trelawney's sorrowful predictions.

And anyway, Ginny _is_ a nice girl…… and she _has_ grown very attractive over the past year……. And there _is_ something about her which appealed to Harry……. There is that feeling again.

"Hermione's right you know. Ginny _is_ only a year below us." 

"Whaddya mean?" Ron narrowed his eyes at Harry.

"I mean, she is where we were last year."

"Stating the obvious aren't we now?"

"Ron, what did we do last year? What did we have to face? I don't think much of what happened last year would be under the category of child's play."

"But she is still my baby sister," growled Ron through clenched teeth.

"And you are still George and Fred's baby brother," retorted Hermione. "Let it go already."

"Am not!" 

As if on queue, the Weasley twins entered jovially into the common room.

"How's our wee little baby brother Ronnikins?" greeted Fred as George bounced right up and ruffled Ron's mop of hair.

Harry chortled and managed to muffle a snort by burying his face into the collar of his robes. The look of horror registering on Ron's face was priceless. Settling down back into his chair, he grabbed the book closest to him, which happened to be Hermione's prized possession "Hogwart's: A History". The book served the double function of both hiding his surging laughter from the twins (and Ron), and shielding him from the cheeky grins of the irrepressible duo. 

Hermione, on the other hand, was too smug in having scored a point over Ron to succumb to the giggles. She gave Ron a triumphant look, which irked him even more as he tried to escape the twins' smotherings. 

"Let go of me, for goodness sake!" The twins left him, undeterred, as he tried to soothe his hair back down. They turned their attention to Harry, who suddenly got _very_ interested in the history of the Hufflepuff house. 

"Harry, Harry, Harry," said George as he sauntered over to where Harry sat, head ducked behind the book with the familiar cover. "So in addition to your _excellent_ Quidditch skills, and gift in Parseltongue, you also possess to ability to read text in inverse I see."

George's red hair and Cheshire grin appeared over the rim of "Hogwart's: A History". Taking the book from Harry, he turned it back the right way up before replacing it in exactly the same position as before. Harry blushed as his pushed up his glasses. 

"So what are the two of you up to now?" asked Ron. 

"Nothing."

"Yeah. Right." 

"So. Are you all ready for Halloween then?" asked Hermione, sensing that they wouldn't be able to extract any prankster clues out of the two. 

"Oh yes." Fred flashed a grin. "I've asked Angelina, and George here is paired with Katie."

"You two going together I gather?" asked George, looking from Ron to Hermione and back.

"Yes, and Harry's going with Ginny. Aren't you Harry?" Ron called.

Harry dropped Hermione's book with a thud. Why just a minute ago…… 

The twins looked at each other, eyes glinting wickedly. Wrapping their arms around each others' shoulder, side by side, they hip-hopped over to where Harry was seated. _Oh dear, _thought Harry. _Here goes….._

_ _

"His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,

His hair is as dark as a blackboard.

I wish he was mine, he's totally divine,

The hero who conquered the Dark Lord."

The verse ended with the twins right on top of Harry, whose face has turned redder than the three Weasley boys' hair put together. No, make that the full nine members of the Weasley family put together. Still, the twins were so idiotic in their mannerisms he couldn't help chuckling at their efforts. Lee poked his head round the door at that moment. The twins caught sight of him and hurried over to the door.

"Gotta leave guys. Places to go, people to see. You know."

Ron scowled. George faked a sorrowful parting look as the trio left in the common room.

"Good night, good night. Parting is such sweet sorrow

That I shall say good night till it be tomorrow."

Hermione had to press her lips into a hard thin line to resist the bubbling urge to guffaw as Lee gave them a wink before leaving them alone.

There was a momentary silence after the pranksters departed. Harry was still a bit red-faced, curled up in his chair. Hermione cleared her throat, and took a deep breath. Blocking out the infectious grins of the twins from her mind, she turned to Ron and said brightly,

"So, Ginny _is_ granted your permission to enjoy Halloween?"

"Yeah, I guess so. But," he continued fiercely, looking at Harry, "you'd better take care of her or else I'll feed you to Hagrid's Porcupine-Quilled Mantises."

Harry winced at Ron's threat but flashed a grin of thanks. "With a threat like that, you can be sure Joan of Arc herself wouldn't get better treatment."

"He sure is over-protective and cares about Ginny a lot, doesn't he?" commented Harry to Hermione when Ron left the common room to borrow the following issue of "Quidditch Monthly" from Ernie MacMillan. "No matter what he grumbles or teases her about."

"Remember Scabbers?" reminded Hermione. "Before we found out his true identity? He never stopped complaining about the rat, but he darn near strangled Crookshanks when he thought he'd eaten Scabbers."

*

"So," asked Ron on the morning of Halloween, "have you decided what you are going to the ball as yet?" "Er, kind of," mumbled Harry, busying himself with throwing on his robes. 

"Meaning no," stated Ron.

"I'll come up with something," replied Harry shortly. "What's the worst I can do? Jeans and a t-shirt. A regular Muggle. Perfect."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Maybe you should have taken on the Chewy offer," he teased.

"In your dreams," Harry retorted.

Hermione had suggested that she and Ron could go as Hans Solo and Princess Leia.

"You know, from Star Wars," she had said. 

"What's that?" Ron had asked.

Hermione had seemed a little surprised that Ron hadn't heard of it before. Harry himself had silently confessed he didn't know much about it either. The Dursleys never allowed him near the TV, unless it was to dust it. Going to the cinema, of course, had been out of the question. His only vague idea of the series came from Dudley, who had received a computer game based on the trilogy one Christmas. His cousin had boasted about his mastery of the game constantly until he tired of it, and tossed it into his pile of discarded toys, one month later. 

"Star Wars is a fantasy science fiction series about the battle between the good and the evil in space," she had explained, trying to put it as simply as she could.

"So this Hans guy and this Princess Leia are the heros?"

"Two of them, yes," Hermione had replied. She then turned to Harry, who had been listening in. "Maybe you should be Ron's wookie, Chewbacca," she had said with a wink.

Harry, having learnt enough from Dudley's trumpeting, had staunchly refused. "I am not going to don a big furry outfit and go screeching and lumbering round the Great Hall," he had declared, firmly.

"Chewy does not screech," Hermione had said. "Besides, he is loveable."

"Howling and whining then," Harry had answered back, ignoring Ron's laughter. "I have no desire to be your loveable pet monster, though I thank you kindly for the offer."

And that was that. Harry had the feeling that he had still wound up with the shorter end of the stick though, despite his decline of the offer standing. Ron and Hermione had spent most of that evening smirking, no doubt, envisioning him in a gigantic furry monkey-suit.

"Well," Ron said, as the bell went for their Herbology class, "you have exactly ten hours before the Feast starts to decide."

It was difficult for the students to concentrate on lessons that day. The teachers eventually gave up and turned a blind eye and deaf ear as their classes inevitably degenerated into (clearly audible) whispered discussions about fancy outfits and party gossip. All except Transfiguration and Potions. Both McGonagall and Snape had the gift of quenching any riff-raff or "funny business" among the students by the merest command.

The Halloween Feast was to be at seven o' clock, so at half five, six o' clock, the students started to make their way up to their dormitories to get ready.

"At least," remarked Ron, "Hermione didn't allot three hours in her timetable to get ready this time. _Three hours!_ Can you believe it? _Three hours!_"

Harry chuckled. "You are not offended she is taking less than half the time dolling up for you as she did for Krum are you?" he teased.

"Of course not!"

They reached the dorms. Harry opened his trunk, sighed, and pulled out several pieces of clothes, hoping fervently that they were not so creased as to be unfixable by a simple ironing charm. Beside him, Ron was laying out the outfit he had put together with Hermione's help.

"Do you remember where this went?" he asked Harry, holding up the replica of a laser gun.

"I think it is meant to go into that holder thing on the belt."

"Oh, right."

Neville and Seamus finished changing and left. Dean dashed into soon after, slapped on his West Ham football kit which he always took with him to Hogwarts, and dashed back out again. 

"Wow," commented Ron, as the dorm door slammed shut, "that was a record time of what, three minutes?"

"And about one-thirtieth of what Parvati spends for him, I bet," added Harry, grinning.

As they were just about finished, a knock sounded on the door. Without waiting for a reply, Hermione opened the door and walked right in.

"Hey!" cried Ron indignantly, "this is the _boy's_ dormitory, you know."

"Thanks for the warm welcome," replied Hermione, unabashed. "I just came to see how you were getting on. Everyone's downstairs already," she added.

She was wearing a white, flowy type of dress, and had braided her bushy hair and twisted it round her head. Harry wondered how many bottles of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion she used this time to get it that manageable. 

"So, what have you decided to be?" she asked, noting him rather formally dressed in a navy jacket and trouser outfit. Harry had dug up the suit from the bottom of the trunk and used several Severing and Tailoring charms to make it look more official.

"A pilot," he answered, shrugging. "Better than a monkey-suit," he added defensively, seeing the look on Hermione's face.

"Harry, you are much too modest," she said. "You need some decoration."

"I am not some Christmas tree," Harry started, but Hermione waved his protests aside and took out her wand. "_Medallio,"_ she muttered. 

Two rows of medallions pinned themselves onto the breast of Harry's jacket. Hermione waved her wand again and Harry found himself having gold strips lining his collar and cuffs, and felt a couple of cufflinks attaching themselves to his shirt. _Not too bad_, he thought to himself, as he thanked Hermione with a grin.

As the three made their way down to the common room, Ron bombarded Hermione with questions about "this Star Wars business". 

"So, do I kill the Dark Lord, or Emperor, or whoever it is?"

"Dark Emperor," replied Hermione. "And no, you don't get to kill him. Darth Vader does that."

"Who's he?"

"He is Luke Skywalker's father. He used to be a baddie, but he turned good at the very end."

"Why? And who is Luke Skywalker?"

"Luke is the main character who does the battling against the Dark Force. He is a Jedi knight. Remember I told you about the light sabres? He has one of those. As for why Darth Vader changed, it is a long story. Maybe you can come round to my house one day and I will show you the films."

"Hey Harry, _you_ could have been Luke!"

"No thanks, Ron. I have enough with Voldemort without having to fight off Dark Forces of Evil at a party as well," replied Harry, making a face.

"Hey, does Hans not have one of those sabres thingies then?" asked Ron suspiciously.

"No," replied Hermione patiently. "Because he isn't a Jedi."

"So what is he?"

"He is Luke's friend. He saved Luke's life. Twice."

"So I am just some trusty sidekick?" exclaimed Ron.

"You manage to save the hero twice, Ron. _And_ you get the girl," said Hermione, rolling her eyes.

"I do?"

"Yes."  
  


"That's you, right?"

"Yes. What do you think I am here for? As an ornament?"

"No. So Luke doesn't get the girl?"

"No," sighed Hermione.

"Why?"

"Because they are brother and sister."

"What? But how? Why?"

The three reached the bottom of the stairs then. Hermione groaned as she turned to Ron, "I'll just show you the movies one of these days, okay?"

As they entered the common room, Harry's jaw dropped. There, waiting nervously by the fireplace, stood Ginny. She was in a sleeveless, fitting, knee-length dress of dark velvet green, which perfectly complimented her copper-red locks. Her hair was loose, though styled slightly to keep it from falling round her face, and she had the slightest bit of make-up on. Harry swallowed hard several times and stared, even though he knew he was being very rude in doing so. He suddenly had the tremendous urge to turn and bolt back up to the dormitory where he had just come from. Ginny was…. _beautiful_. He stupidly felt like a five-year old kid getting to meet his fairy godmother for the first time.

Ginny made her way to where the three friends were standing. "Hi Harry, are you ready?" 

Harry could only nod. Beside him, Ron was gaping as well. Harry figured that Ron probably was just as taken by his sister's appearance as he himself was. Ginny turned to Hermione and grinned, "I guess you found them okay then? And you guys tease us girls for taking a long time!" she teased.

Ron found his voice. "You probably just disappeared to get ready long before we did!" He paused, and then asked, "so, what are you supposed to be?"

"Just a Muggle," replied his sister. "I wanted the opportunity to try out this dress Hermione got me for my birthday."

"_You_ got her that dress?" asked Ron incredulously, turning to the Princess Leia beside him. Hermione merely shrugged and smiled.

"Does mum know about this?" he went on, giving Ginny a big-brother look.

"Of course she does," she answered. "She was the one who encouraged me to try it out."

Ron stood there gaping as Ginny and Hermione swapped cheeky looks. 

"So, what are you?" she asked Harry.

"A pilot," answered Hermione and Ron in unison. "I think he needs to go to AA – Aeroholics Anonymous," added Hermione, winking, "only ever thinks of flying."

"Er, let's just head on to the Feast, shall we?" said Harry, recovering from his momentary shock and wanting to escape from the nudge nudge wink wink carry on between the two girls. He reached out uncertainly to take Ginny's hand. _She might as well have hit me full-blast with the Stunning Curse_, he thought, nervously sneaking several glances at her as they made their way to the Great Hall. If he had thought asking her to the ball was difficult enough, getting up the nerve to talk to and dance with her this evening with her looking so glamorous would be impossible. Harry didn't know what to think. He hadn't felt this, well, _terrified_ in a way, before. Not even with Cho, whom he never got this far with anyway. And as last year at the Yule Ball with Parvati, well, that was different. He asked her simply because there was no one left to ask. There had been nothing, no chemistry at all. He might as well have asked Ron.

The Great Hall was buzzing with excitement when they arrived and took their seats with the rest of the Gryffindors just as the food appeared on the table. A quick glance around told Harry that there were several Elvis Priestlys, a couple of Presidents, numerous pop stars, some bandits, and scores who decided to just dress normally the way Ginny did. It was a bit strange to see the teachers robes-free, but they managed to look respectable enough. Enough to pass as regular teachers for his old Muggle school even. On the other hand, there were some students who obviously tried hard, but still ended up in some ridiculous concoction not unlike the attempts at Muggle dress-up he saw at the Quidditch World Cup last year. Harry couldn't resist a laugh when he saw a Hufflepuff third-year pass by with a feather plume on his head and what looked like Aunt Petunia's old night-gown wrapped over a neon green sarong. Glancing down to inspect the footwear, Harry saw a pair of clunky platform boots peeking out from underneath the hem of the night gown.

He leant across to Neville and whispered in his ear, "that is even funnier than your Snape Boggart." Neville chortled into his pumpkin soup.

After a jovial dinner that finished off with a rich banoffe pie, Dumbledore magicked the tables and chairs to the sides of the Great Hall, leaving a big open space in the middle. 

"Well, what are we waiting for? Let the fun begin!"

Everyone cheered as music of the Weird Sisters blasted out into the air. A table with huge bowls of pink punch popped up on one side of the hall, while another laden with quills and parchment erected itself on the other side. A sign above that table read "Requests Taken. Please Queue and Put Down Your Name, Dedication and Song Desired".

Harry glanced round and saw that Ron and Hermione had taken off already. He turned to Ginny, and flushed again. _She really is looking stunning._ She was looking at his a bit shyly, though expectantly. Harry didn't know what to do. His mind went blank. _Say something. Don't just stand there! Goodness, you asked her to the ball, so quit being such a chicken._

"Erm, would you like a drink?" he asked Ginny lamely. _Damn! She has just finished dinner, and you ask if she wants a drink? Really clever, that._

_ _

Ginny gave him a strange look. Harry could tell she sensed his nervousness. _Drat!_ "Yeah, sure," she replied.

"I, er, I'll go and get it then," he said, and escaped to the punch table. He was thankful to have something to do, and drinking the punch might take some time. So maybe his jelly-like legs would have strengthened, and his mind cleared by then, to actually ask her to dance. 

He helped himself to the punch. He noticed Ernie MacMillan beside him, dressed in a strait white jacket and black trousers, holding up his glass and pretending it to be a margarita. 

"Shaken, not stirred," he said, turning to Terry Boot, who rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. And I know you are Bond. James Bond." 

As Harry made his way back to where Ginny was, he saw her with Ron and Hermione. She was laughing, and seemed more relaxed and open than anytime Harry had seen her. She didn't seem to be Ginny, the Harry Potter admirer anymore. She ceased to be Ginny, Ron's little sister. She was just, well, Ginny, herself. Harry was brought back to his senses as the punch sloshed all over his cuffs. Flushing, he concentrated on heading back to the group without further spillage. 

"Thanks," said Ginny, accepting the glass Harry was offering her. He noticed her eyes resting on his damp cuffs, but to his relief, she refrained from commenting. Harry politely sipped his punch and was racking his brains for a starting line when Malfoy appeared, as usual, sandwiched between Crabbe and Goyle.

"Weasley, such a _shame_ we are not granted with seeing you in your _girls_ dress robes today."

Ron's hand flew to his wand, which was tucked in his belt along with his "gun". Hermione reached out to stop him from drawing it out. "Get lost, Malfoy," she said evenly.

Draco eyed the four of them with distaste. "Call it fun? Dressing up as Muggles and Mudbloods?"

Ron started under Hermione's grip. "Just because you are lacking imagination is trying to come up with an outfit for tonight, doesn't mean we lack it too. You look like a prissy, prim vicar in those dress robes of yours, Malfoy."

It was true. Harry had noticed during dinner that Draco, as well as many of the Slytherins, had refused to dress up as Muggles, and had resorted to wearing their dress robes instead. _Spoilsports, _he had thought to himself.

Looking round the Great Hall now, Harry wondered what Snape had come up with. He didn't recall seeing him that evening. Neville's Snape Boggart came floating to his mind and he chortled into his punch. _That would be fun to see, _he thought, though Snape of course, would not be caught dead ridiculing himself that in that manner. He wondered if the professor would remain in his usual robes. But he found no answer, as he could not spot Snape anywhere in the hall.

Just then, Pansy Parkinson came by, and after throwing a condescending look at the four Gryffindors, turned to Malfoy and said, "C'mon Draco, I like this song," and dragged him off to the dance floor, with Crabbe and Goyle lumbering after them, clumsily knocking those already jiving in the centre of the hall.

"Maybe we should join in the fun too," suggested Hermione, as she pulled Ron up from his chair. The four headed to the dance floor, in the opposite direction of where the Slytherins went. Harry's legs still felt slightly funny, but the beat was perky, and he quickly found himself relaxing and enjoying it. Ron and Hermione soon whirled off elsewhere. Harry couldn't help gazing at Ginny, who flushed under his stare and looked hesitant. _Say something._ _Don't just stare!_ He didn't know what to say though, what to say that wouldn't sound trite or corny.

His eyes travelling over the boisterous crowd, he caught the sight of a Ravenclaw right in the centre of the dance floor, gyrating rather wildly. His eyes bulged as his hand flew to his mouth to try and stem a flow of laughter. "Look! Look at those, those… _missiles_!" he gasped.

Ginny followed his gaze, and then grinned. "That's Madonna," she informed him.

"What?"

"She's a Muggle pop star."

"How did you know?"

"Hermione told me." She paused, taking in the shiny leotard with the pointed breast caps. "They aren't like that, really, "she assured Harry. "It's just the outfit."

Harry snorted, "I should hope so! About the outfit, I mean."

"And Malfoy thinks Muggles aren't that cool or interesting, er?" laughed Ginny.

"He hasn't half seen them yet," answered Harry, his mind still boggling.

The upbeat song ended, and a slower one came on. Harry felt both himself and Ginny instinctively draw closer. His heart pounded nervously, though he made no attempt to jerk away. He really didn't know what to do. He never took dance classes (as if the Dursleys would even think of spending a penny on him), but somehow it seemed okay, natural even, to just sway to the music. He saw some other couples around them doing the same anyway.

He felt Ginny's head move to look at him. "Sorry I can't really ballroom dance," she apologised. 

Harry shrugged, "I can't either."

"What about last year? You danced pretty well with Parvati."

Harry laughed. "She led me. I felt like a show dog most of the time."

Ginny returned his laugh. "That's okay then."

They continued to drift to the music. Harry caught sight of the twins grinning at him, and Seamus and Dean nudging and winking, but he ignored them. He had relaxed by now, and was actually very much enjoying Ginny's company. He also noticed with relief, that she wasn't tongue-tied or seized up when she was around him anymore. Rather she was being herself, and he found himself liking this Ginny that was emerging from her shell. _In fact,_ he chided himself,_ it is you who has been all tense and nervous tonight. Not her._

_ _

Harry sensed Ginny chuckling to herself and glanced down. "What?" he asked, hoping fervently she hadn't been read his thoughts and was laughing at them.

Shaking her head and wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, she replied, "sorry, I just keep thinking about those.. er, missiles. The look on your face!" She dissolved into giggles once more, "it was priceless!" she gasped.

Harry laughed too. "Really, I have to tell Hermione to stop corrupting you with dangerous Muggle creatures," he teased. "If your mother ever heard…"

"Oh," said Ginny airily, "she knows. I think she was rendered more speechless than you were. She told Hermione to stick to Celine Dion in the future."

*

It was Halloween night. And down in the dungeons, away from the Elvis replicas and James Bond clones, paced the outline of a tall, thin wizard, with dangling, greasy locks partially obscuring a pale, hard-set face. 

Severus Snape had suspected to be summoned by the Dark Lord for the past few days. It had been a while since Voldemort had called upon his Death-Eaters, and with Halloween not only being a traditional wizardry day, but also one of celebrations and fanfare, it was a perfect opportunity to stage a summit. Catching people unawares. That had always been a favourite of the Dark Lord's. 

The Potions master was brewing the last of an engorgement potion in preparation for a double practical class for the third years the following day. Halloween balls were a nuisance, in his mind. He couldn't understand how Dumbledore seemed to amuse himself highly with such trivial matters. Give him the fine art of potion brewing any day over the sloppy sloshing of punch-making, the quiet sanctuary created by a bubbling cauldron each time over the brash screeches and pounds of the Weird Sisters. Well, Halloween or not, Snape was going to make sure the students worked just as hard the next day, excuses not taken. He was just putting away the final drops of the potion when the familiar sensation of intense burning shot right up through his left arm. 

The Dark Mark. The Dark Lord was summoning him.

He dropped the stirrer with a clang, the pain was so acute. He needed no quick glance to tell him that the red tattoo on his arm - a tattoo of a skull, with a snake protruding from its mouth – had now turned to the jet black colour of charcoal. Gritting his teeth, and digging his fingernails into his palm to endure the throbbing, he wasted no time in grabbing his face mask and sweeping out of his dungeon. The Dark Lord possessed no patience. He could not bide tardiness, nor idleness. And in the precarious position Snape found himself in regarding regaining the Dark Lord's trust, he had better not provide him reason for further annoyance.

He hurried out through the front entrance of Hogwarts Castle, and across the school grounds, until he was outside of Hogwarts property. Shutting his eyes, Snape drew a deep breath. The throbbing of the Dark Mark was thunderous, as if it is were that, and not his heart, that was pumping the blood which was tumultuously coursing through his veins. With his right hand, he touched the tip of his wand to the coal-black tattoo of his left arm, and muttered the word of the Dark Mark, which would serve to guide him to Apparate to the whereabouts of the Dark Lord.

"_Morsmordre!_"

A searing pain shot up through his arm from the Mark, and rapidly fired through every nerve in his body, telling him that he was away. Away, travelling through the thin air, to wherever the Dark Lord had summoned him to.

Popping back into existence, Snape found himself in what seemed like a deep forest. Gigantic trees loomed overhead, ominous and sinister, masking from the ground what weak light the pale, shimmering moon cast overhead. Several masked figures were already mulling around outside a deserted shack, so tumbled down it looked as if the slightest gust of wind would reduce it to rubble. 

The Death Eaters turned as Snape moved towards them. Joining them in a misshapen circle, Snape was reminded of exactly why he made that decision, long ago, to turn his back on this lifestyle. Why he had made the difficult, but conscious, choice to step away and start anew. Why he had buried the memories at the very back of his mind, irretrievable, for all these years. The tension in the air among the Death Eaters was so palpable, it could be sliced with a knife. The sense of unease among them so thick, it was suffocating. Nothing ever escaped the vicious scrutiny of fellow supporters. No action amiss, no word unheard. You were dissected and judged in your every nuance. It was a web of greed, egoism, forced formality and cold-blooded cruelty, where trust, compassion and understanding were foreign entities. 

"I see you have finally graced us with your presence," a leering tone come from behind the face mask of a tall, rather well-built man standing opposite Snape.

Unabashed, Snape returned in a cool manner, "still the same sarcastic character I have always known, McNair."

"Sharp as always," a cold voice cut in, so chilling it almost left a trace of frost lingering in the night air. "I understand you have yet to regain the full of the Lord's trust."

"And I trust that the Dark Lord has restored his complete faith in you, Malfoy," answered Snape, his smooth oily voice dripping with sarcasm. 

Snape knew. He knew deep down, deep down within his soul in which he kept a close guard, he was weary. He was weary of the political back-stabbing prevalent within Voldemort's circle of supporters. He was weary of the constant malicious petty play. He knew, though he would never admit to it, the years under Dumbledore's service, the luxury of being granted the headmaster's understanding, had mellowed him somewhat. And as annoying as it was to his pride, he was grateful for that understanding. However, here, now, venturing back into the midst of treachery (albeit voluntarily), if he was to be perceived as one of them, he'd better act like one of them. After all, he had had enough practice at sarcasm in class. Fighting back a sigh (any movement would be soaked up like a sponge), he caught sight of two familiar lumbering shapes.

"Crabbe and Goyle," he purred, "still as deft and as nimble as ever."

A fierce growl came from the depths of one of the hoods. The burly figure of Goyle made a lunge at Snape, but fell flat on his face tripping over the root of a tree with protruded from the damp earth. 

Snape sniggered. "I do enjoy the old familiarities."

Crabbe let out a snarl as Goyle picked himself clumsily from the ground. Silence ensued, and the degree of unease reached such asphyxiating levels it was the most Snape could do to exude an air of cool calm collection.

After what seemed to be an eternity of discomfort, two people emerged from the shack. The Death Eaters immediately formed a defined circle, creating a gap in which they walked through. The shorter of the couple then bowed low, and backed into an allotted slot within the circle. 

"Master," he whispered, as he settled into his space.

The ghostly white face of Voldemort was in full view to all in the circle, his ruby coloured eyes focusing on each of the Death Eaters with a gaze so sharp it seemed to pierce right through to the soul. The night was mild, but one could sense a shiver rippling through the circle. The fear and apprehension was so tangible that it could almost be captured in a vial. Pacing round inside the circle for several long moments, Voldemort eventually came to a stop in front of the wizard who had come out of the shack with him.

"My Death Eaters. We meet again." He paused to let what seem like a rustle filter round the circle in the still of the night. "I told all of you previously," continued Voldemort, turning round to survey his circle of supporters once more, "the existence of a stone created nearly a thousand years ago, which would aid me greatly in my quest for the ultimate power, of finally establishing a supreme race consisting solely of pure-bloods, the _true_ purveyors of the world of wizardry."

"The vision I initially had, has continuously grown stronger. I have been telling Wormtail here," Wormtail drew himself to his full (though unfortunately none too impressive) height, his chest swelling with importance. 

"Master," he said, bristling with pride and smugness, at being singled out. 

Voldemort cast him a sharp look which quickly reduced him back to a whimpering, humble heap. 

"As I was saying before we were so unceremoniously interrupted," Voldemort's smooth hard voice went on as Wormtail quailed, "my vision of the stone has only been strengthened over the past weeks. A verification by Malfoy has confirmed the authenticity of my vision. It is a comfort to know that my powers of vision have not dwindled during the fourteen years of hiatus."

_ _

Another dramatic pause followed. Snape fought back the urge to shuffle uneasily. He detested these moments of silence, where one always had the feeling of being tested. Voldemort had the gift of instilling fear and wariness without obvious effort. He always had.

"You had always provided a fine source of historical information and facts, Malfoy," said Voldemort softly. "It was a highly commendable piece of work."

"Thank you, my Lord. You are most kind, and I am eager to be of service." 

Malfoy's swift acknowledgement had none of Wormtail's quivering praises, nor his bumbling worship. Instead, it was cool and confidant, though revering, evidence of a seasoned accomplice.

"The stone," said Voldemort, drawing a sharp breath, "was created long ago by Sebastien and Militsia DaFracci. They made sure it was unique, non-replicable. Shame, it was destroyed, through a valiant but failed attempt of robbery. A robbery by the servant of the great Salazar Slytherin."

A gasp rippled through the Death Eaters. 

"Yes, Salazar Slytherin. My most illustrious ancestor," whispered Voldemort, with an air of reverence. "But," he whirled round at the circle, snapping the Death Eaters back from shock, "there is one remaining shard of the stone. One single piece that exists that has not been crushed nor disintegrated."

"Snape!" ordered Voldemort. 

"Yes, Master," Snape bowed, sweeping low to the ground. 

"You have much to redeem yourself with," drawled Voldemort, as the rest of the Death Eaters sniggered. "I trust you to not let down the Dark Lord yet again."

"I shall seek my best efforts to redeem myself in your eyes, my Lord, and be of my Master's most humbled service," answered Snape smoothly, thankful for the face mask as his eyes smouldered, and his lips curled up in distaste behind the black cloth. The humiliation of this was beyond bearable.

Voldemort enjoyed the sight of Snape's bent back for a long, satisfied moment. When he eventually spoke, his voice was cold and mirthless. "You have yet to prove to me your fully pledged loyalty. I do not kindly take to supporters who renounce their ways to save their skins. But I give you this chance, this chance to prove your worth. Find me this shard, and do not fail."

Hidden within the long folds of his cloak, Snape clenched his fists. Hard. Digging his nails into the palms until the pain drained away the surge of anger and contempt from his mind. Gritting his teeth, he managed a calm, civil reply. 

"No, my Lord. You have my word. I will not fail."

Voldemort merely gave a nod. Sweeping a final piercing look round at his supporters, he cried, "dismiss!"

The Death Eaters hurriedly Disapparated with a succession of faint "pop's". The sole remaining figure was that of Lucius Malfoy, awaiting, hovering in the shadows, anticipating. Voldemort fixed on the spot where Snape had just Disapparated. Then, without even turning to face Malfoy, he ordered, "follow him."

*

The Halloween ball was carrying on in full swing. Laughter and singing filled the Great Hall. The Non-Put-Outable pumpkin lanterns flickered all around the dance floor. The latest hit from the Weird Sisters was blasting out from the Yodelling Flower Statuettes. 

Dumbledore decided to take a break from his jig with Professor Flitwick, and was helping himself to a glass of the pumpkin punch when McGonagall came up to him rather briskly.

"Albus, it's Severus. He's in your office," she said in a low voice.

Dumbledore's expression became grave in an instant. Giving McGonagall a curt nod, he glanced at the festivities taking place in the Great Hall before slipping out through a side door, leaving the rest to carry on with their celebrations, blissfully unaware of the exchange.

When Dumbledore reached his office, he found Snape sitting in a chair at the headmaster's table - dressed in hooded robes, carrying a black cloth in his hands. It was clear. He had just been back from a summoning of the Death Eaters. Quickly seating himself down across the table, Dumbledore turned to Snape. "What is it?"

A sense of urgency was conveyed through the tunnels of Snape's usually cold, dark eyes. He took a deep breath, and spoke.

*****

** **

Author's Notes I: I know I have made references to the growing relationship between Harry and Ginny, as well as Ron and Hermione, here. But please do not expect me to being giving it the full-blown works, with day-to-day accounts of what goes on with the two couples. The main storyline of this fic is not one of romance, though I _would_ divulge in short, fluffy mentions on the matter if the occasion arose. I am useless when it comes unadulterated, romantic writing, it just plain comes out corny. :-P For a good dose of Harry/Ginny relationships, I highly recommend Arabella's "Sine Qua Non".

Author's notes II: This following verse is from William Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet" of course.

"Good night, good night. Parting is such sweet sorrow

That I shall say good night till it be tomorrow."


	6. Chapter Five

The Power Within

The Power Within

Chapter 5

Author's Notes I: The quote "A rock pile ceases to be a rock pile the moment a single man contemplates it, bearing within him the image of a cathedral." is taken from Antoine de Saint Exupery's _Flight to Arras. _

Author's Notes II: Amicitia, amo, fides.- Friendship, love, faith in Latin.

Merde – shit in French

Author's Notes III: Thanks to Jedi Boadicea for letting me borrow her _Auris Medallion _theory, as well as her Stasis wall spell (mentioned in her fanfic Memories of Tomorrow: Dreams of Yesterday series)

Author's Notes IV: As much as I would like to lay claim to Moody's quote on courage, I can't. It is a mutated version (to fit this story) of a quote from Ty Murray, who was a seven-time all-around world champion cowboy.

Usual disclaimer: Thanks to J. K. Rowling for giving us this world to live in in the first place. It is all hers, I just feed off her dreams…..

Chapter 5

Novgorod, 1972

"So how's my favourite grandchild this afternoon?" 

Irina skipped up to her grandfather and settled cosily next to him. The two of them got along famously. 

"Having a witchcraft-free Easter now aren't we?" he asked, as he ruffled Irina's hair. 

Irina nodded. Despite being a Muggle, Grandpa Ivan was hugely fascinated with the wizarding world. In fact, he had said so many times he wished he were a wizard. He'd married a witch, Grandma Julia (who had died just last year) and heard many magical tales from her. And it had made his day when his daughter Tamara, and when Irina years later, were accepted into the Rastorovsky Institute of Wizardry. He never stopped asking for stories about the school and wizarding world in general, and Julia and Irina never tired of telling them. 

"So, how much chocolate did you stuff yourself with?" 

"A lot," Irina admitted. "I brought some Chocolate Frogs for you though."

Grandpa Ivan's face lit up as Irina pulled out several packets from her pocket.

"Chocolate Frogs. My favourite! I wonder what cards are in these now."

Irina laughed. "Honestly, you are worse than my class-mates!"

Grandpa Ivan's eyes twinkled. "Young at heart dear. I like to call it being young at heart."

After a few moments' munching on the chocolate and flipping through the cards (all of which he had already – Albus Dumbledore, Agrippa, Ptolemy, Hengist of Woodcroft, Alberic Grunnion, Circe, Paracelsus), he turned back to Irina, who was playing with Larky the dog.

"So, did you get anything else? Besides chocolate, I mean? A fluffy Easter rabbit?"

Irina grinned at her grandfather's twinkling eyes. "No, no fluffy white creatures. But mum did give me this stone though."

She pulled out a dull looking shard from her other pocket and shrugged. "Doesn't look to be much, but she said it had been passed down the family, so that is nice if nothing else."

Grandpa Ivan took the shard from her and fingered it lovingly. "Yes, I remember this. I used to tease your Grandma Julia about it. You know, what is it? Just a shard. But she said it had been passed down the family as a sort of charm for several centuries. Her great great great, goodness knows how many greats, grandmother Anastasia. So it is almost like an heirloom, only it's not a diamond or ruby or sapphire or something," he finished chuckling. "Take good care of it. It holds many memories, and," winking at Irina, "might hold hidden powers."

"Has it shown powers before then?"

"Not that I know of. But that doesn't mean it doesn't posses them."

"Yeah right. You'd think if it was powerful, it would gleam and shimmer and I would be 10 feet tall, wearing a rich embroidered cloak and ruling the universe with unstoppable power when mum handed me this."

Grandpa Ivan let out a guffaw. "Still the idyllic belief in the control and power department I see you have." He paused, and sobered up a bit. "Seriously though Ira, power isn't all command and control over mankind, nor blatantly displaying strength for the world to see. It can be anything. It can be belief, love, friendship, memories, knowledge, anything you wish it to be and that means something to you. Power, _real_ power, comes from within, and is something which you might not even realise you have until you need it. _That_, what is within you, embedded in you, is powerful because no one can take it away from you. Think, power of rulers in the world hasn't all been that stable. Look at Napolean. Look at Hitler."

Irina smiled and moved to lie across Grandpa Ivan's lap. She fingered the shard and let the sunlight reflect off its sides. 

"Still, it is so small and wee looking." She paused, "I like the memories part of it though. You know, that it had been in the family for so long."

"A rock pile ceases to be a rock pile the moment a single man contemplates it, bearing within him the image of a cathedral." Grandpa Ivan paused, and looked down at Irina, still fingering the shard, but looking at his questioningly.

"It means envision what you wish something to be, and you can make it happen. In a case like this though, I'd like to interpret it as, seeing the shard as whatever you wish it to be, whatever meaning you wish it to have. And sure enough, it will be that. It can be just a shard, or it can you a lucky charm, or it can be a love charm. It can even be your protective charm. Anything. The choice is limited only by your soul."

"Now you are getting to sound like our Divination teacher," laughed Irina.

Grandpa Ivan grinned. "We Muggles like to call it superstition. Just because we are "only" Muggles doesn't mean we don't believe in magic or supernatural powers."

Still laughing, Irina sat up and brushed her hair out of her eyes. "I have to go. Promised mum I'd be back by five." Brushing herself down, she hurried out the door. "Thanks for the soul-searching advice though," she said, before closing the door behind her.

"Anytime love."

In her room that night, Irina pondered over what her grandfather said. Sure, she had teased him about sounding like their exaggerating, irritating, soulful Divination teacher, but what he had said _was _interesting. And what was more, she understood and agreed with him too. Besides, it would be nice to have a sort of charm, girly as it might seem. She wondered about thinking it as a lucky charm. Nah, too common. Love charm? Too mushy. Her thoughts drifted to the owl she had gotten from her Beaubaxton's penpal the previous term where she had described to her about her class making Auris Medallions in class and how they acted as a protective/warning talisman object. What did she say they were for?

She had said, _"the Medallion would warn the wearer, by turning numbingly cold, whenever dark magic was being worked against them and that an exceptionally well made Medallion could also work somewhat like a Sneakoscope, warning the wearer if he was in the presence of a dark wizard." _

_ _

_"That would be cool,"_ thought Irina, and then chuckled when her friend had cursed and said how she might not even succeed in completing the Medallion at all, if she failed in choosing a single word which has great meaning to her. Something that inspired confidence to ward off dark forces. In which case, the Medallion would be totally useless, and _"what is worse, merde (!!), it may very well explode when I try to inscribe the word on it. Oh help!!"_

In the end, her friend had managed to get the Medallion made without mishap, and was in fact, very chuffed with it. 

_"Well, Auris Medallion or not,"_ thought Irina, _"It would be a nice concept to use with this shard."_In fact, with it having three sides to it tapering off from a round head to a sharp point, she could have three words. Then there would be three times the possibility of getting the true word. She was just relieved that, unlike a real Auris Medallion, the shard would not explode upon a superficial word being used. She hoped. Or else there would be three times the chance too, of carrying out an unwanted explosion.

She pondered for several long moments, thinking back to what her Grandpa Ivan had said that afternoon. Finally, slightly nervously, but very determinedly, she picked up her engraving quill, and slowly, carefully, engraved three words. One on each side. 

_Amicitia. Amo. Fides._

When she finished, she examined her handiwork closely. The engraving was faint, barely visible to the eye. But it could just about be detectable.

_"Well, it is really only me who needs the words anyway, as they might be useless to the others,"_ she thought, convincing herself the faintness was okay. She picked up an empty locket she had had for several years. It was oval-shaped, and instead of being flattish to allow for photos, was actually round and hollow, room enough to slip the shard into. She gave a smile, as she tucked the locket underneath her jumper.

*********

** **

**_1995 A.D. Hogwarts_**

**_ _**

"Karvitskaya!"

Katya stopped and faced Snape tentatively. "Yes?"

"Did you know that ornate jewellery is not part of the dress code here in Hogwarts?" he rapped, reaching forward for Katya's silver locket, which was hanging outside her robes, and flicking it up with the index finger of his right hand.

Katya glanced down anxiously at Snape's long, thin finger. "Sorry Sir, I didn't kn…"

"Enough! Five points from Gryffindor! And if I catch sight of it again, it will be confiscated."

"But Professor, it's my…"

"Silence! Unless you wish to have another ten points taken off."

Katya shut up immediately. She had quickly learnt that Snape could not be reasoned with when he was in a vindictive mood. She caught sight of a briefest flicker of expression registering on his face as he continued to gaze at the locket. But before it could be gauged, Snape had hardened his looks and flipped the ornament sharply back at her.

"In the future, Karvitskaya," he said shortly, "if you wish to break the school rules, do so without flaunting. Keep the offending ornament hidden where I cannot see it."

And with that, he swept off down the corridor. A small swish of wind followed, as if to further emphasise the presence of his vindictiveness.

"Bastard," grumbled Ron, glaring at the Professor's retreating back. "He made that one up on the spot. All because he just felt like taking points off us."

"At least he didn't confiscate it," said Katya, tucking the chain deep within her robes, under her polo-neck. She was rather taken aback, and a bit confused, over what Snape had just said. "It was a bit strange about the last part though. You know, if I want to break the rules, then do so sneakily."

"That just goes to show that bloody rule was made up!" replied Harry angrily. "I am sure if it isn't for Snape and his obvious hatred for the Gryffindors,"_ in particular myself,_ he added silently, "the Gryffindors will have about a hundred more points each year."

Katya shrugged. "I guess you're right," she said, but it didn't stop her from thinking that Snape was indeed a rather intriguing character.

*

Snape sat down in his office, pulling a pile of parchment towards him. It was the fifth-years' homework, an essay detailing the Development and Trial-Testings of the Memory Liquor. He sighed. He had been feeling very tired lately, having sleepless nights about the dangers of his lifestyle at this moment in time. Keeping up appearances and covering up in front of Voldemort and the Death Eaters was a very exhausting job, and the last thing he felt like doing was going through a heap of sloppily done homework with a plethora of careless mistakes. Especially with that Neville. Now, if everyone could do theirs like that Granger girl. Shame she was in Gryffindor. She would have garnered a lot of points in his class for her house had she been placed in Slytherin. And that Russian girl wasn't too bad either.

His mind drifted back to when he had reprimanded her in the corridor about ornamental jewellery. True, he had made that up. But he could not bide frivolous charms and whatnots dangling about all over what should be a simple dress code of black school robes. That Lavender Brown was the worst. Snape would never forget the time she had feathers stuck in her hair. 

_"She looked like a flaming peacock,"_ he thought, with all the irritated impatience of one who could not stand ridiculous fancifuls. His thoughts soon drifted back to that silver charm and he shuffled the sheets of parchment in front of him uncomfortably.

_"__Find me this shard, and do not fail,"_ Voldemort had said.

Snape could not shake off the dreading suspicion that inside that "frivolous charm" held something. Something that, he thought, during that brief moment in which he fingered it, seemed to be a shard of sorts. _Could it be?_

_ _

He fervently wished not. For a multitude of reasons. He wished to be able to, truthfully, plead ignorance to the Dark Lord's continuous questionings on his assignment's progress. He wished that such an artefact would not be in the possession of a completely clueless fifteen year old. He wished, perhaps above all, that Voldemort had been wrong all along regarding his visions, and that there was no existence of an outwardly innocuous, but deceptively devastating, artefact.

Snape heaved a weary sigh. For now, he, Severus Snape, could still remain in relatively truthful ignorance. But he was dancing dangerously on the border of close to knowing the truth. And knowing the truth meant heading along the fast-track to peril. Veriataserum and merciless administrations of the unforgivable Cruciatus Curse were potent enough to break through any Memory Charms or control of sanity to obtain the deepest, darkest secrets of even the most faithful of wizards.

Katya had unwittingly made his position difficult. _"Stupid girl," _he thought to himself angrily. _"If she hadn't deliberately flaunted that damned chain."_ Well, if he hadn't been feeling vindictive and wanted something to vent out about either…. _"but that is beside the point,"_ he argued to himself.He couldn't confiscate that ornament as he normally would have done, as its investigation might have led to discovery of Voldemort's desire. Thus compromising his ability to feign ignorance on its existence and location. He just hoped that no more sightings of the charm would be in store.

Pushing away a greasy lock of hair that was stuck in his eye, Snape pulled Seamus Finnegan's essay towards him (which Snape noticed at a glance, was two inches short despite Seamus surreptitiously enlarging his writing). As he viciously slashed red marks across the untidy scrawls, grumbling out loud about the blundering mistakes in ingredients amounts, he heard the faint sound of a movement and whipped his head round to face the door where he thought it had come from. 

There was nothing.

Snape shut his eyes in an attempt to drain his mind of all thought. He needed a break from all of this. The tension of being a spy can sometimes be overwhelming. Shaking his head, he turned back to his work. For several hours, he feverishly marked the pile of mistake-laden essays, letting his shoulder-length hair to tumble round his face, as if to shield himself from the demands of the outside world.

*

The month of November rolled by rapidly and blended unnoticeably into December. The days were shortening, and it got bitterly cold as snow fell and the frosty north wind howled outside Hogwarts Castle.

Most of the students opted wisely to stay indoors during the cold winter nights, in front of the cosy fireplace in their common rooms. Days passed by relatively peacefully and uneventfully. Harry, Ron and Hermione didn't get to visit Hagrid much. Partly due to the nasty weather, and partly because they knew he was busy with rounding up giants for the International Giants Committee (IGC). Harry hadn't really heard from Sirius since the day three weeks ago, when his godfather had visited Professor Dumbledore in order to discuss the possibility of conducting a Fidelius Charm for Harry's sake. He did get a hasty note from Sirius telling him, as usual, to take care ("He is getting worse than my Mum," Ron had said, when Harry showed the note to him) and that he had still not managed to come up with the ideal person as Harry's Secret Keeper yet. But he was on the look out. There was also a brief P.S. with Lupin saying hi to all three friends.

With a couple of weeks to go before the Christmas holidays, people were starting to talk about returning home, the usual Christmas festivities, and for some lucky ones, travelling abroad.

"It's going to be a rather quiet time here, I gather," said Hermione one morning as the Gryffindors made their way to breakfast. "As far as I am aware, everyone seems to be going home for the holidays."

"Or in Lee Jordan's case, to _Japan,_" interjected Ron, unable to, or rather, not even attempting to, conceal the envy in his voice. 

His jaw had dropped when George had told him of it a couple of nights ago, also sounding rather jealous. However, he had winked when Katie had shown up to take him for a walk ("You need a break from the studying," she had said). "But Fred and I have given him an important undercover assignment. He is to bring back all the secret recipes for jokes from the Orient. We plan to make our joke shop cosmopolitan, you see," he whispered, rubbing his hands in glee. Fred had been nowhere to be seen. He had been "intensely studying" Charms with Angelina at the library. _Charming indeed._ Ron smirked as he pictured the look on Madam Pince's face if she caught the two Seventh-Years doing their "intensive studying" at the desks situated the far end of the library, right beside the Restricted Section.

Ron was just about to tell the others of the twins' non-prank related escapades when Harry said lightly, "Well, I am going to be around, as usual."

Hermione fidgeted. "I owled my parents yesterday to ask if I could stay on. There is so much studying I_, we_," she emphasised, "have to do!" 

Ron rolled his eyes and made a noise. Hermione ignored him and continued, "and I would need the library for all that research we need to do for the essays. And stuff."

Harry chuckled. "Hermione, you may be an absolutely brilliant student, and ace all your O.W.L.s," he said, flashing her a cheeky grin, "but lying would not be one of them. That has got to be the lousiest excuse I have heard! C'mon, you can do better than that!"

"What do you mean?" retorted Hermione, though she could tell Harry was secretly touched. "It's perfectly legit. Besides, the O.W.L.s are only…."

"…a little over six months away," finished Ron. "Yes, but the lying is still pathetic!"

Hermione made a playful lunge at him which he artfully dodged and the two chased each other down the corridor into the Great Hall. Harry followed at a more placid pace, shaking his head. 

When he had settled down at the table beside his two friends, Ron turned to him and said, rather apologetically, "I would stay too, but Bill and Charlie are back for the holidays, and it is rare that we all get together," he finished, shrugging.

"Don't be silly, Ron," Harry said, clapping his friend on the shoulder as he took a sip of juice. "It would be cool for you back home. Bet you you are looking forward to seeing Bill and Charlie too."

Ron couldn't help grinning. Then he pulled a face, "Percy will be there as well, with Penelope. You know what this means. A nightly five-hour lecture on the importance of long-lasting wizardry ink," he gagged.

"What happened to the cauldron bottoms?"

"He finished that lot last September."

"Get Charlie to tell you all about dragons instead. Tell him you need it for the O.W.L.s or something."

The three laughed. They all knew that Hagrid would only be too happy to be teaching about dragons for their "Care of Magical Creatures" classes. Who could forget about Baby Norbert?

"Well," said Harry, as he swallowed his bacon, "I'll leave it up to you to discover the marvels of long-lasting ink development. While Hermione and myself here," he said winking, "will dutifully recite off by heart, all the books in the library. _Oww!"_

That last comment had earned him a swift, but firm, kick under the table from Hermione. "You asked for that one!" she said.

Harry was still trying to search for a come-uppance when the owl post came. Errol crashed down in the middle of the three, while Pig fluttered in a few seconds later and landed in Ron's milk. Reaching forward to lug Errol off the table, Ron detached three letters from the worn-out owl's leg, while fishing Pig out of his glass.

"There's one for each of us. Looks like it's from Mum," he said, as he passed the letters around. Then detaching the soggy piece of parchment from Pig's leg, he saw that it was from Bill. The three friends glanced quickly through their letters and then stared in delight at Ron. 

"Did you get the same letter as I did?" asked Hermione, barely able to conceal her excitement.

"I hope so," replied Harry as he peeked into her letter.

"Oh Ron!" cried Hermione happily. "Your mum has invited us to The Burrow for Christmas! She's already consulted my parents and they have said yes!"

"And Dumbledore has agreed to me going too," added Harry, scanning through his letter again, hardly able to believe his luck.

Ron was grinning from ear to ear. "It _is_ going to be crowded though," he added, a bit worriedly. The familiar look of apprehension crossed his face as he thought of his friends being at his cluttered family home. The house wasn't a luxurious mansion.

"Rubbish! Who cares? Part of the fun is it being crowded and rowdy," grinned Harry. 

Ron relaxed. Quickly scanning through the milky pulp of Bill's letter, he laughed as he showed it to the others, "Looks like Bill could do with some of Percy's Long Lasting Ink," he said, as they attempted to make out what the smudged letter read.

_Dear ole Ronnikins,_

_ _

_I guess you would have heard from Mum by now about the Christmas plans. If Errol had not had a heart attack on his way to you that is. That owl is really past his prime. Anyway, it looks like The Burrow is going to be one, big, boisterous place these holidays. Just like it was the last two weeks of the summer. Percy is going to go mad! He claims he has five detailed Wizarding Ink reports to complete over Christmas. Let's hope Penelope will get him to take his mind off things. __J__ Charlie and I are looking forward to be as jovial as possible._

_ _

"Rascal!" laughed Harry.

_Oh, actually the house is going to be even more crowded than that._

_ _

"What? How?" aske Hermione.

_There are going to be two extra guests staying as well._

_ _

"Where are they going to go?" wondered Harry out loud.

_However, I am strictly prohibited from giving you details on their identity._

"Bugger!"

But I am sure you will all get on very well indeed. Just be prepared to sleep on the floor of the living room for the two weeks at home. 

_Cheers, _

_Your fantastically amazing oldest brother who still has the long mane,_

_Bill_

_ _

_P.S. Remind Hermione not to bring the whole of Hogwarts library back with her._

_ _

"I do _not_ bring the library back with me!" said Hermione defensively, though her eyes betrayed her amusement.

"Who cares about the floor?" said Harry happily. "I will sleep in the coal shed if I need to."

"I wonder who those two guests are," said Ron thoughtfully. "Probably his and Charlie's girlfriends," he added, with a wicked glint in his eye.

"In that case, no fair!" came Fred's voice over their shoulders. He had just received an owl from home too. "All of you would have your beloved with you except for us!"

Both Ginny and Ron turned the shade of their hair while Hermione and Harry feigned deafness.

"Don't worry," said George in a mock huff, turning to Katie. "_We'll_ whip you off to the French Riviera over the summer." 

Katie and Angelina caught each others' eyes and started giggling. Ron, deciding to change the subject, turned to Katya and asked, "so, how are you going to spend your Christmas?"

"Oh, I'm going to Birmingham to stay with my father," she replied laughing, seeing right through Ron's act of desperation.

After breakfast, the Fifth-Years were getting up to head to Arithmancy when they heard a familiar sneer coming from behind them.

"So since when, might I ask, Weasley, did your family home become presentable enough to entertain visitors?"

Their excited discussion must have carried across to the Slytherin table.

"Since always, Malfoy!" retorted Harry, whirling round to face the pale-faced boy.

"Oh, _of course_," continued Draco spitefully, "Anything would have been better than that broom cupboard in your Muggle home," Malfoy snickered. 

"For your pea-sized brain," began Ron hotly, "Harry _does_ have a bedroom at home!"

"Oops, my bad," mocked Malfoy, in perfect insincerity. Then, turning to Harry and Hermione, he said with a taunting glance at Ron, "make sure you bring some food and bedding supplies. The Weasleys are so poor they are barely able to feed and clothe their own, let alone Mudbloods and orphans."

There was a resounding slap and Malfoy found himself on the floor, staring up at an absolutely raging Ginny Weasley who was trembling from head to toe with lurid anger.

"Take that back, Malfoy!" she spat.

"Shan't," said Draco, in as light a tone as he could, fingering the side of his face gingerly as he unsteadily got to his feet.

Ginny would have knocked him to the ground again had Ron and Harry not restrained her. "No one," she breathed heavily, "_no one_, mocks my family's poverty. And _no one_ dares mock my friends in front of me." 

She struggled from Ron's and Harry's grip and took a menacing step towards Malfoy, who, to his credit, had the grace to step back. She raised her fist as if to cast him another blow when she thought better of it, turned on her heel, and stalked off with a cry of utter exasperation.

_"Wow!"_ whistled Harry, gazing after her in awe, marching out of the Great Hall. "What's got into her?"

"Have you been giving her Malfoy slapping lessons, Hermione?" asked Ron in wonderment.

Hermione blushed, recalling the incident in their third year where she had lost it and slapped Malfoy right across the face after he had insulted Hagrid. 

"No," she replied. "She came up with that all by herself."

"C'mon," said Harry, throwing Malfoy one last look of contempt before nudging Ron out towards the door, "we will be late for Professor Vector."

"Oh no!" cried Hermione as she gathered up her books and hurried out of the Great Hall with them. "Wait for me!"

Katya paused before heading off, fixing her gaze on Malfoy who was still rubbing his cheek, which had turned bright red.

"What?" he snapped, insolently.

"Do you get any joy from mocking others? Or do you do it just for the sake of doing it?" Her voice was calm and steady. And Draco found that surprisingly disconcerting.

"I don't know what you are talking about," he snarled, as he turned to head off to his class.

"I think you do," said Katya quietly. "And if you are making a mockery of others just to cover up your own insecurity of pain and anger, it is not working."

Draco stopped dead in his tracks and swung around. Katya was already heading out of the hall in the other direction, her back to him. She didn't say another word, nor did she look back. Draco stood staring at her back until it disappeared from his vision. He had the maddening urge to rush up and simultaneously beat her senseless - _"How DARE you? How DARE you say I am attempting to cover up any feelings? As if!"_ – and to - "_argh!"_ - admit that she was…. right.

"What makes you think I am covering up pain and anger?" he muttered furiously under his breath as he stalked up to the North Tower for Trelawney's class. "What makes you think Draco Malfoy is this poor little rich boy? You think Draco Malfoy would really want to spend Christmas in a cramped pigsty with a pack of unruly, uncivilised beings, having to sleep on the floor? Draco Malfoy who has his very own private en-suite bedroom, a big one too, at Malfoy Manor? Draco Malfoy who has house elves running round at his bidding? Draco Malfoy, son of a well-established, respect-commanding pure-blood, _insecure?_" 

Draco almost laughed out loud at the last word. And he would have had it not been actually very close to the truth. 

_Dammit! What is it with him lately? That is the second time he has been ruffled by those silly Gryffindors this year. And that slap by Ginny. The silly, tittering, pauper girl who is good for just kissing the ground Potter walks on. It's humiliating, that's what! _

He huffed and he puffed as he thundered on his way. Climbing angrily up the rope ladder to the misty tower room where their Divination class was held, he promised to himself that he would be _in control_ from now on in. He would _not_ be thrown off by the stupid psychological probing from those lowly Gryffindors. 

_Think Neville. Think Neville Longbottom._

He snorted as he recalled the image of the plump, nervous-looking blundering boy whose claim to fame was being the Slytherin House master's least competent student. A smirk spread across his thin face.

_Yes, Neville Longbottom. The hopeless, brainless, accident-prone squib. _

_ _

How he ever managed to get into the Gryffindor house for the supposedly courageous was beyond Draco's comprehension. 

"Yes," murmured Draco to himself as he wedged the trapdoor to the tower room shut and turned to slip into his usual seat between Crabbe and Goyle."Think Neville."

*

The weekend happened to bring with it fair weather. Although still desperately cold, it had stopped snowing, or sleeting, or raining. A crisp, wintry sunshine spread over Hogwarts and the howling wind seemed to have blown itself out. 

"Great day for a bit of Quidditch practice, don't you think?" asked Ron during Saturday's lunch hour.

Harry nodded, and turned to Hermione, who was discussing Tolstoy with Katya. 

"Hey, bookworms, fancy coming with us for a walk? Ron and I were thinking of playing some Quidditch."

"Why not?" replied Katya, looking up at the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall and noting the clear sky, "I might try my hand at it myself."

Ron raised his eyebrows and gave a low whistle.

"And what makes you think it is so surprising?" asked Katya.

Ron shrugged. "Nothing. Just haven't seen you play before, that's all."

Katya winked and chuckled. "There's always a first time for everything!"

After lunch, the four went to get their broomsticks (even Hermione agreed to join in the fun) and made off for the Quidditch Pitch together. It was a pleasant walk across the school grounds, with the crisp crunching of snow beneath their feet, and the occasional brittle snap of a fallen branch. The landscape was blanketed by a thick shroud of fine, powdery snow, glaringly white, as it reflected the frosty December sunlight. The air was chilly yet stimulating, and despite their numbingly cold extremities and red runny noses, the four found the wintry air refreshing and invigorating.

"Come on," called Ron impatiently, running ahead, slipping and sliding along the snow-laden path, "hurry up! I want to get up into the air!"

"Ron, slow down. You just had lunch. You are going to get appendicitis," said Hermione, trudging at her own pace a good several few feet behind. She was pointing out to Katya the English names of the shrubs that lay at the side of the path, as well as the few remaining animals scampering in the depths of the white velvety snow.

"Who cares about appendicitis," grumbled Ron. "This is the first day that we could play Quidditch properly for ages, and you go and lecture on about appendicitis."

"You are going to want the lecture when you find yourself clutching your stomach in considerable pain, by which time, it would be too late," answered Hermione sweetly, as she turned back to Katya saying, "and that, is a Peppypop Peppermint shrub. It's just like the herb plant, only a lot bigger and more robust, strengthened through magic of course. The proper name would be _Mentha arvensis cultivara shruberas._"

Ron rolled his eyes and was about to turn and suggest racing Harry to the pitch when he saw a huge creature swooping down from the sky. 

"Look out!" He dived in front of the girls as the creature swept down heading straight at the two still observing the Peppypop. 

The creature, which Harry recognised as a gigantic Golden Falcon zoomed straight at Katya, who gave a scream and raised her arm up to shield herself from the sharp talons which came inches within her face and neck. Ron blindly tried to fend it off as Harry picked up a stone and hurled it into the air, in a desperate attempt to distract the eagle's attention. Unperturbed however, the eagle headed directly at Katya once more, this time, close enough to knock her to the ground from behind. And then, before the four could recover enough to do it any damage, soared away into the sky and disappeared as rapidly as it came.

"Kat, are you alright?" asked Harry breathlessly as he hurried up to where Katya was spluttering, having accidentally swallowed a mouthful of snow when she was knocked to the ground.

"Yeah," she answered rather shakily, "I think so." She started up the path to the pitch. "Really," she said, as she turned back at the others eyeing her with concern.

"Geez," ranted Ron, as they headed up to the pitch, huddled together in a group this time, "what has that falcon got against you?"

They got to the pitch without further attacks, and the two boys shot straight up into the air at once. Katya took several seconds to gather herself together before she too joined them, dragging Hermione up along with her.

"C'mon! It'll be fun," she cried as she tugged a rather reluctant Hermione upwards at an alarming speed.

Katya had not been merely teasing when she said she would join the boys for a flight, as they all soon found out. They watched with amazement as she did some dives and loops, evidently enjoying herself thoroughly and seemingly oblivious of the other three watching. After several minutes of letting loose, she floated back to them, hair askew, cheeks flushed, with a huge smile on her face.

"That was nice," she said, and laughed at the astonished looks on her friends' faces. "Did you not think I knew how to fly?" she asked audaciously.

"W-w-well, yes, of course," stammered Hermione.

"But we didn't know just how!" finished Ron. "Can you teach me that loopy thing you just did?"

"Sure, of course."

"Er, I think I will just sit this one out and watch," said Hermione warily. 

Katya laughed as she took Ron off to teach him the aerobatics. They messed about with that for a while, and then Harry showed her some Seeker skills, including the Wrontski Feint.

It was a rather dishevelled foursome which made their way back to the castle a couple of hours later, tired, but exuberant. They were about halfway back when Katya suddenly hesitated, fumbling about with the collar of her robes.

"What is it?" asked Hermione.

"I can't find my locket!" she cried, halting dead in her tracks, feeling herself all over now.

The others stopped.

"What do you mean? When did you lose it?" asked Ron.

"I don't know," came Katya's frantic answer as she started to trace her way back to the Quidditch Pitch, casting her eyes desperately round the path they had just took.

"Did you have it when you came out?" asked Hermione, joining her.

Katya nodded, and gave a sigh as she looked out towards the huge expanse of the Quidditch Pitch. "It's going to take ages," she moaned as she took it all in.

Hermione gave her a gentle rap on the head. "Kat, please. Wake up." She turned to the pitch and called out clearly, "_Accio_ locket!"

Nothing came. She tried again, and then Katya tried. Still nothing. The two boys appeared next to them.

"Do you suppose…." began Harry.

"What?"

"Nothing. It sounds a bit silly," said Harry shaking his head. "Forget it."

"What?" persisted Hermione.

"Well," Harry said, hesistantly. "You know that huge falcon that swooped down on us on our way out here?"

"Of course. How can we forget that?" said Ron.

"Do you think, well, I don't know," said Harry throwing up his hands. "Do you think its claw might just have snagged the chain and carried it off with it?"

"Er, well…" said Ron, trying to come up with an answer to that.

Harry dropped his head, and shook it. "Yeah, I told you it sounded lame. Just… just forget about it, okay?" he finished, reddening.

"Well," ventured Katya, still looking out towards the pitch as if to catch sight of her locket floating through the air at any moment, "it isn't entirely out of the question, I guess. And that bird _did_ come very near us, and it knocked me over." She sighed. "I guess that means that that will be the last I see of the charm then," she bit her lip hard and looked away.

Hermione tentatively patted her on the back as they turned and made their way back towards the castle once more.

"It'll probably show up someday," she soothed, "you never know. Sometimes things have a habit of doing this."

But she herself didn't really believe it, and she knew that Katya didn't either.

"Hey, there. How's the magnificent Quidditch recruit doing?" called out Seamus as the four climbed in through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room.

Harry looked confused. "What new recruit?"

Seamus gave him a "who do you think I am talking about look" and jerked his head towards Katya, who was still feeling all over her robes in hopes of finding the chain tangled in her clothes somewhere. Hermione was beside her, trying to soothe her.

"Kat? How did you know…" Harry asked, becoming suspicious now of Seamus' cheeky grin and Lavender's giggles which she made no attempt to hide.

"Let's just say we happened to see you lot messing about on the Quidditch Pitch earlier on," Seamus replied, clearly enjoying being maddeningly elusive.

"You just _happened_ to see us?" challenged Ron, narrowing his eyes, though Harry could see him fighting down a laugh.

"Seamus, there was no one at the bleachers," said Harry. "We looked."

At that, Lavender gave an uncontrollable snort and hid behind her "Unfogging the Future: An Intermediate Guide to Unseen Forces". Seamus merely gave her a shove which sent her toppling to the ground, before turning round to look reproachfully at the two boys in front of him.

"Ever tried to look _underneath_ the bleachers?"

Ron's mouth dropped open while Harry stared at the laughing duo in disbelief. 

"_Underneath_ the bleachers? Who are you? Fred and George?" asked Ron. "I thought only my brothers were crazy enough to do things like that."

"Oh, you'd be surprised," replied Seamus airily. 

"So," butted in Lavender, looking straight at Harry and smirking infuriatingly, "what is going on between you two?"

"Me?" exclaimed Harry incredulously. "With Katya? Oh get off it!"

Ron let out a guffaw and shot Harry a sly look, and was rewarded with a swift and well-aimed kick at the eye of his ankle. 

"We were just messing, having fun. Can a boy and a girl not enjoy a rough and tumble on broomsticks without being suspected of breeching a platonic friendship?"

Seamus and Lavender remained smug. What irked him even more was Ron just standing there chuckling away. "_So much for friends sticking up for you,"_ thought Harry, glaring at Ron. 

"Katya," he said firmly, "is _just_ a friend! Please exercise your Cupid skills elsewhere."

With that, he turned to head up to the dormitory, not wishing to be faced with Seamus' cheeky grin, egged on by Ron's snorts, any longer than was necessary. 

"Besides," he said, turning round just before going up the stairs, "it's not.. her," he nodded in the direction of the two girls, "it's Gi…."

"Ohhh!" Seamus' eyebrows shot up into the tousled hair on his forehead, as Lavender dissolved into yet another fit of giggles. "_Who_?" he asked, with wide-eyed innocence, knowing full well the answer.

Harry glared at him before snubbing him by turning his head in the other direction. "No one," he shot over his shoulder as he thumped up the stairs.

Seamus turned to Ron with an amused look on his face. "Hmm, I have to admit," he said, shooting a taunting look at Lavender, still sprawled out on the floor, "that I wouldn't mind a feisty flyer like Katya myself."

Lavender bolted upright and mockingly glared at him, "_What?"_

Giving an impression of male preening, a perfect mimicry of Gilderoy Lockhart (evidently one _did_ learn something from the airhead), Seamus put on a falsetto voice, "I wonder if her heart flutters when she sees me. I wonder what praises she sings about my heroic ventures. I wonder what feelings she harbours for me. All recorded faithfully in her personal diary."

Ron gave a rude snort. "Yeah right, Mr. Inflated Ego. For your information, Ms. Karvitskaya writes in her diary in Russian. And I suppose you _know_ Russian?"

"Oh," replied Seamus, still in the falsetto voice, "did you not read my autobiography "Magnifique Moi"? In it, I proclaim myself to be multi-lingual. I know 3689 different languages, including Gobbledygook, Yeti-yibberish, troll-talkytink, and of course," he gasped as Lavender pulled him to the ground and started pummelling him, "… Russian."

Ron shook his head in exaggerated sorrow as he deftly leapt out of the way of the couple now scuffling across the common room floor.

"C'mon," he said to Hermione and Katya, dragging them off to a quieter corner of the room, where his chess set lay, "let's show them how civilised human beings are supposed to behave."

*

"Moody's taking all of us together this afternoon!" called out Terry Boot to the Gryffindors as he tore past them in the corridor with his fellow Ravenclaws. 

It was the last proper day before the Christmas holidays and everyone was feeling rather keyed up and exuberant. Harry couldn't help walking rather jauntily as he thought about how this time tomorrow, Bill would be arriving to pick them up and whip them all off to The Burrow. He had to pinch himself constantly to convince himself that this was not a dream. That it was really going to happen. Until he was eleven, he had never spent Christmas anywhere outside of No. 4 Privet Drive. And that didn't count since he spent the decade of festive seasons either locked in the cupboard at the bottom of the stairs, or slaving away in the house cleaning up after Dudley. Since entering Hogwarts, he had spent all his Christmases at the school, and they had been some of the best holidays he had had, especially since Ron had been with him for all of those, while Hermione had managed to convince her parents to let her stay for the past two years. But this was the first time he would be able to experience it as part of a family, and he had always fantasised about Christmases being cosy family occasions. Like those Christmas cards with a family gathered together round a glowing fire, stockings hung up on the mantelpiece, and of course, a Christmas tree with piles of presents underneath. He gave a contented sigh. He knew the smile on his face probably looked silly, but he couldn't help himself, and a glance at Ron and Hermione nudging and giggling confirmed to him he was not the only one feeling this way.

"What? Wait! What are you taking about?" called out Dean, chasing the bunch of rowdy Ravenclaws partway down the corridor.

"He is taking the Fifth-Years from all the houses, in that big classroom at the bottom of the stairs beside the portrait of Sir Cadogan," and with that, he disappeared off with the rest to the Greenhouses.

"I don't remember a big classroom beside that mad, raving lunatic of a knight," said Lavender.

"It's been moving about probably," answered Ron. "Let's just hope it's there this afternoon."

"Just our luck though, a Dark Arts class with the Slytherins," Hermione made a face. "What a perfect Christmas present."

"It'll be interesting," laughed Seamus, "Ole Moody can handle that lot. Don't forget about Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret!"

The crowd of Gryffindors burst into laughter at that memorable moment as they went off to Transfiguration.

That afternoon, everyone headed to the big classroom situated beside Sir Cadogan's portrait, and waited outside. Much to Harry's relief, the eccentric, adrenaline-pumped, overly-imaginative knight was nowhere in sight. _"Probably off annoying some poor portrait elsewhere,"_ he thought.

It was rather a loud and chatty crowd, what with there being four times the usual number of students, added to the excitement of everyone sharing a class with someone like Moody. On top of the rapidly-climbing festive spirit. If Moody was excitable enough with ten to eleven people per class, one could only imagine what he would be like with forty. Harry couldn't help grinning as he found himself actually looking forward to experiencing what promises to be an interesting class.

A familiar clunking sound coming down the corridor told them Moody was coming. He surveyed the crowd briefly, his magical eye rolling three hundred and sixty degrees round its socket before settling back into its proper (well, more typical) position. Harry caught sight of the briefest flicker in his normal eye followed by a quick purse of the lips. But it was gone as soon as it come, and Harry couldn't help wondering if he was seeing things. Besides, Moody's face was so badly scarred and deformed that it would be easy to misinterpret or imagine things.

Moody reached out to open the door, and barked his customary, "In!" and watched as the Fifth Years filed into the classroom.

A loud crackle sounded which carried to the end of the line where Harry, Hermione and Ron were. Harry heard Susan Bones scream, together with a yell from Justin Finch-Fletchley and several others as those at the front of the line hurriedly stepped back, knocking over the ones behind in the process, nearly causing a domino effect. 

"What," said Ron, recovering from having Neville and Katya stumbling on top of him, "was _that?_"

"I have no clue," answered Harry, on his tip-toes, trying to look up the line to see whathad caused the commotion. "You look, you are taller."

Ron strained to see the front of the line. "Can't tell," he reported. "Moody is just standing there like, you know. Maybe it's nothing."

A drawl came from the middle of the line as Malfoy and his two huge, lumbering sidekicks pushed their way to the front of the line.

"My, my, my. Don't tell me these Hufflepuffs can't even enter a classroom. They are the house for the dunces of course, but _please._ Stupid enough to have their Head Boy killed…. "

A furious uproar erupted from members of the other three houses. Malfoy didn't get to finish his sentence when a loud _crack!_ sounded. Ron's eyes darted up the queue eagerly, whispering, "Bouncing ferret? Bouncing ferret? Bouncing ferret?"

He was most disappointed to see Draco still as he always was, with those around him – exception being the Slytherins - eyeing him with utmost distaste. Moody had apparently only cracked the air to put an end to both his sneering and the commotion from the reactions.

"Damn!" cursed Ron, looking disappointed.

"Mr. Malfoy," said Moody in his raspy voice, speaking in a smooth manner in which Harry had not heard from him before, "perhaps _you_ should be given the honour of entering the classroom first then?"

This time, there was no mistaking the glint that was in Moody's eyes (both of them) as Malfoy stared insolently at the Professor, and then calmly, almost cockily, saying, "Of course. My _pleasure_."

He headed into the classroom as the others looked on. _Crrraaacckk!_

This time, Harry could see a web of lightning flash from where Malfoy had walked, or attempted to walk, towards. _What the…_

Draco let out a scream before he could stop himself. He stepped back and tumbled into the clumsy figures of Crabbe and Goyle, who stayed upright simply due to their burly bulkiness being able to support Draco's light frame easily. Several sniggers undulated through the group of Fifth Years, now gathered in an unorderly crowd round the classroom. Two red spots appeared on Malfoy's pale cheeks as he angrily pushed himself upright and brushed himself down briskly. Harry glanced up at Moody and was surprised to find the Auror non-chalantly flicking away some imaginary specks from his robes. The teacher then took out his Magical Eye and polished it right there and then in front of the class before putting it back into its socket. After that, he calmly looked round at the fifteen year olds clustered round the classroom door once more, as if what he did was perfectly normal, like polishing a pair of horn rimmed spectacles. Harry had the crazy image of seeing Moody with Dumbledore's half-moon glasses, and half-expected the ferocious-looking Auror to start humming merry tunes the way the headmaster did. He bit his lip to keep from smiling. 

"Amusing?" came a soft voice, but Harry heard it very clearly and turned red. He looked up to see Moody again exercising the freshly-polished eye in its socket. He had the attention of everyone, even the humiliated Malfoy. "Do you find it amusing that you have not learnt the most basic lesson I have taught you for the past fifteen months?"

His face was hard-set and serious as he whipped out his wand and waved it at the door, "_revealo!_"

The air around the doorway shivered and shimmered, a mist of white formed, swirled round the door frame and faded away, revealing behind it, the presence of a white hot wall.

"A Stasis wall. I should have known that!" Harry heard Hermione moan beside him. He had to grin. Trust Hermione to chide herself for not knowing _everything_. Moody reached forward to touch it. The wall fizzled and crackled as Moody pulled away his hand quickly.

"Yes, Miss Granger," he said, "the Stasis wall. Made of sharp, white hot particles of charge. It can burn the skin, or the flesh even, if it's powerful enough and under prolonged contact."

He gave the class a smirk, which twisted his war-beaten face such that it resembled gnarled tree roots. "I am highly disappointed with the lack of savvy on your part. Remember CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

The class leapt collectively as his soft tone switched rapidly to that snappish one he used for his favourite motto. 

"Would you have figured out about the wall on your own? You have to be on the alert, you have to have your eyes and ears and mind sharpened and opened wide. You are supposed to be practising CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

"Now," he continued, in a more regular tone, as he observed the wide-eyed faces staring back at him, "does anyone here know how to break the Stasis wall?"

Hermione's hand tentatively rose up, as if she were terrified of Moody using the Stasis spell on _her_. Moody gave her a nod of approval.

"Thought as much, Miss Granger," he said, giving her a smile, which served to twist his face even more. "Go ahead."

Hermione stepped up to the crackling wall, and with a flick of her wand, said clearly, "_resolvo!_" The wall crackled once and faded away. Then, nervously, for good measure, she flicked it once more and muttered, "_finite incantatem._"

Harry noted that Moody gave yet another nod of approval and felt proud of his friend. Trust Hermione. The class now peered uncertainly into the classroom, surveying the innocent-looking furniture and atmosphere, before cautiously stepping in. Malfoy hung back slightly, scowling, muttering, "how many more explosions must we face before being able to take a simple class? The man's crazed. And Dumbledore always hires such loonies."

If Moody heard Malfoy (which Harry was sure he did, what with him being, well, Moody), he didn't show it. As Harry and Ron joined up with Hermione at the back of the class, Seamus whispered at them, "the guy's nutters alright! If we had thought he was raving mad last year, this is nothing compared!" He sat himself next to Dean as Harry, Hermione and Ron looked at each other and exchanged secretive winks. _They_ knew. But they weren't about to say anything.

Moody limped over to the teacher's desk at the front. "A bit pointless, taking marks off for your negligence at the start of the lesson," he growled, "as it would be a collective deduction from all houses. But," his magical eye swivelled towards Hermione, "five points to Gryffindor for Miss Granger knowing the counter-curse to the Stasis spell, and another five for her having enough brains to double check for presence of more traps."

With a jerk of his robes, Moody thunked to the centre of the classroom, rested his eyes briefly on each student in turn, and asked, "so what does it take to be a good Auror?"

"Alertness."

"Awareness."

"Physical fitness," laughed Terry.

"Initiative?" suggested a Hufflepuff. Moody nodded.

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" roared Dean.

Everybody laughed, including Moody. "Very good," he said amiably. "But you also need _character_. Courage. A belief to fight for the right cause. It is these things that keep you going. It is these things which are key to your survival at times when constant vigilance lets you down." He paused, "like today," he added, wryly.

"Yes, to fight the Dark Force, you would need a certain about of guts, vigour, a force that comes from within you. Knowing curses merely as they are, performing detection spells as precautions, albeit useful, are not powerful enough if you were to come face-to-face with the Dark Lord, or the most skilled of his supporters. Or other Dark wizards for that matter. Being an Auror requires a dedication to the belief of the good for others. It requires selflessness, sacrifices. It requires courage."

The class listened in awed silence at who was the Ministry's best ever Auror, certainly a voice of experience. The impossibly scarred face, the wooden leg, the years of emotional scars were more than adequate to suggest that Alastor Moody had been through that, had sacrificed, and knew what he was talking about. Harry began to develop a new respect for Moody. He was a cool teacher, most definitely. But now, there was something else too. A selfless individual who dedicated his career to the eradication of the Dark Arts, and who, must hold a belief so strong, that his spirit still appeared intact despite these rapidly-darkening times when many have succumbed to the doom and gloom of the return of You-Know-Who. Not that everyone believed in that of course. "_Fudge for one, refuses to admit Voldemort has returned_," Harry thought in angry frustration.

Harry saw Moody cast a quick glance at Neville, who was sitting white-faced, but seemingly calm, at the front, wearing an unusually determined look on his face. Had Harry not seen the scene with the Longbottoms in Dumbledore's Pensieve at the beginning of the year, he would have been rather impressed and surprised at the expression on Neville's face at present. Well, actually, he was _still _impressed. In fact, he was even more impressed with the pale-faced boy than he would have been had he not known. He felt a pang as he recalled Neville's parents locked away at St. Mungo's, in a state where they couldn't even recognise their own son. And he felt a pang as he thought about Neville, how he visited them during the holidays, and how it must feel to see his parents alive, but not knowing who he was. And all this was because of Voldemort. Voldemort who killed his parents, who tortured Neville's to insanity, who broke apart families, who created fear and hurt and sorrow. _Voldemort_. 

Harry was rudely woken up from his thoughts by a cruel snicker from the Slytherin group. 

"Oh," scoffed Malfoy, apparently recovered from his humiliation at walking into the invisible Stasis wall. "I am _sure_ Longbottom has an awful lot of courage. It has to be there _somewhere._ Gryffindors are supposed to be so _courageous_," he mocked, as he went on, "personally, I have yet to figure out how lily-livered Longbottom here could have been sorted in with the lions, when he is scared of even Professor Snape!" 

The Slytherins sniggered at the last comment, as Draco smugly acknowledged his fellow housemates. "Must have been an off moment for that old decrepit Sorting Hat." More sniggers.

Neville stiffened in his seat and turned even paler than before. His shoulders started to slump, though, Harry noted with interest and pride, that the determined look did not leave his face. Beside him, Katya gave his hand a squeeze and shot a whisper of encouragement out of the corner of her mouth.

Harry was speechless at how bold Malfoy was being in class. To publicly insult a fellow student in the presence of a teacher was unheard of, unless maybe, if the teacher had been Snape. But even then, Draco had never been as rude. Harry wondered if it was the fact that Malfoy could threaten about getting his father onto Moody and have the Auror done in. He was capable of that. He had tried to do it with Buckbeak and Hagrid back in third year.

Moody whirled round to face the smirking blonde, who returned his penetrating gaze with one of impudence.

"I see, Mr Malfoy. Lion courage, right? I suppose we may have a little… _misunderstanding,_ which we have to clear up."

He shot Draco with a piercing stare with both eyes, a stare so sharp, that it made Harry squirm even though it was not directed at him. 

"What is courage? What do you think is courage? Do you think it is only about being a hero, a fighter, a warrior? Do you think it is only about being a fearless bull charging headlong into danger? Reckless, I call that."

A silence followed in which he paused to take a breath. And to acquire undivided attention. He got it. The weather-beaten Auror began to pace along the front of the classroom, the clunking of his wooden leg sounding out a rhythmical beat, emphasising his words, which came out raspy and coarse, but utterly riveting.

"Courage (thunk), _true_ courage (thunk), is not about being storybook heroes (thunk), legendary warriors (thunk), or fearsome conquerors (thunk). It does not come from pills (thunk), secret potions (thunk), nor powerful curses (thunk). Not even the three Unforgivable Curses (thunk). Courage (thunk), _true _courage (thunk), comes from within. It (thunk) comes from being afraid (thunk), afraid and wary of the consequences (thunk), but having the nerve to venture forward anyway (thunk), if it is the right thing to do (thunk). Courage (thunk), _true_ courage (thunk), is about taking everything life hands you (thunk), facing up to whatever challenges it throws at you (thunk). It is about being the best person that you can be (thunk), either because of it (thunk), or in spite of it."

A profound silence settled over the class. No one made a sound. No one stirred. The Fifth-Years, even the previously sniggering Slytherins, were silenced by Moody's speech. Moody looked pleased to have commanded such rapt attention. The grave look on his face softened a little as he glanced back to Neville, whose face was still as white as ever. 

"And I believe Longbottom here," he said softly, yet at the same time his voice reached the farthest corners of the big classroom, "possesses that type of courage." He smiled briefly, and directed his next sentence at Neville, whose pale cheeks were rapidly turning the shade of crimson. 

"There was a reason you got chosen for Gryffindor, boy. The Hat saw something in you, something noble, something which even you yourself may not have discovered yet. But it is there. Use it wisely."

The bell rang. Moody nodded at the forty entranced wizards-in-training and said, in a more relaxed voice, "that's the bell. You are dismissed. And Merry Christmas."

*

It was a dark, yet cloudless night. The air was chillingly cold, though there was no snow falling. The village streets were more or less deserted at this late hour. A hooded figure slinked through the town centre, and slipped into the catacomb of shady, snaking back-streets in the old sector of the town. "Centre Noire", or "Black Central", as people called it, was notorious for its dealings in Dark Magic. Keeping in the shadows, the figure turned into a narrow, deserted alleyway, so dark that the ground could only be seen due to the dull reflection of the moon upon the murky puddles of sewage waste. The pale moonlight, filtering through the gaps in the rooftops of the rickety buildings on either side of the alleyway, also faintly lit up an old, rotten sign labelling the filthy lane as "E. Moore Alley".

Wrinkling his nose slightly in disgust at the grimy surroundings, though the expression was masked by a face-cloth pulled over the face, the person pushed open the back door of one of the buildings.

"I trust you brought the shard?" A cold, smooth voice came from behind a wide armchair situated in the centre of the room.

"Yes, Master," replied the newly-arrived wizard as he hurried forward and pulled out a silver chain upon which dangled a silver locket. A thin, white hand reached out to accept the ornament.

"Yes," purred the first voice, now laced with impressed approval, "you have served me well of late, Malfoy."

"Thank you, my Lord," replied the Death Eater, in his usual suave manner. "As for Snape…"

"What of him?" snapped the first voice, now as cold and hard as a tombstone.

"He does not know yet of the shard's disappearance, my Lord."

"He knows of its location then?" The voice was now dangerously slick, carrying in it the implication of a soul capable of unleashing cruelty at it ultimate.

"I believe so, my Lord," replied Malfoy, with all the maliciousness of a person wishing to witness the fall of a rival. "I cannot, of course, vouch for Severus Snape's personal thoughts," he continued, his tone as oily as ever, "but I can assure you the man has seen this locket. An invisibility cloak does wonders for spying, and I can attest to him having touched it even, yet he made no attempt to obtain it for the cause of the Dark Order," he finished, with an unmasked air of triumph at so crudely maligning a fellow Death Eater.

"Really?" said the Master idly, fingering the locket and the small shard that lay within. "We shall soon see about that, shan't we? And I shall carry out the punishments I deem due. You are dismissed."

The chilling voice of Lord Voldemort was saturated with untainted ruthlessness. Hidden behind the depths of the opaque blackness of the Death Eater mask, Lucius Malfoy gave a malevolent smirk before exiting swiftly from where he entered a few moments before.


End file.
